Sheila and the Meatstick

This was written about the epic Phish Millennium Concert Festival that took place over the course of three days in Florida.  I was 20 years old, had never seen Phish in person, and fourteen years later, still can't believe I was a part of this celebration.
             A giant balloon, the size of a large beach ball, floated towards my head.  Thousands of people were screaming, there was a hot dog the size of a small Buick on the stage, and a lot of glitter.  

            Most of my New Year's experiences prior to this point had been admittedly tame.  They involved my parents' house, a nice dress, bruschetta, and counting down with Dick Van Dyke.  Noisemakers were passed out at midnight, archaic ones we blew into, or twirled around to make loud clicking and grinding noises, and I would inevitably end up in a cardboard hat with HAPPY NEW YEAR written on it in glitter.   For the Millennium celebration, I had wanted to do something special. 

            Enter Phish, my generation's answer to the Grateful Dead.  It was my little sister Nicole's suggestion.  "You need to loosen up," she said.  "Think of it as payback for never breaking in mom and dad for me," she brought up, referencing my goody-two-shoes high school career, complete with sober existence and actually heeding my parents' rules about leaving doors open to whatever room a boy and I were hanging out in. 

            Nicole, on the other hand, was a free spirit to the core, and had spent the previous few summers on "Phish Tour," an annual summer trek that involved following the band around the country, setting up shop at the shows, and bartering handmade wares for tickets, food, and, well, other handmade wares.  I had spent the previous few summers taking college courses, playing for soccer championships, and generally prepping for the future instead of embracing the present.  In a display of unbridled idiocy, ambition, and spontaneity, I agreed to my sister's suggestion, and was determined, through my trek to the Everglades for Phish's Millenium Show, to embrace the moment, and experience an adventure first hand instead of vicariously.

            The trip had started out in a promising fashion, as I'd left the tickets on my mother's countertop in New Jersey, and realized this oversight somewhere around Parsippany.  After some grumbling on the part of my boyfriend, Jeff, and his buddy Josh, we hightailed it back to the tickets before beginning our 23 hour odyssey to Florida. 16 hours in, Somewhere around mid-North Carolina, I brought up stopping for the night.   Josh and Jeff were insistent that we drive straight through, in case traffic were to hit when we reached Big Cypress Indian Reservation, a marshy area of the Everglades with warnings about what to do in case of alligator attacks every few yards.

            "Do you remember Woodstock?" Jeff shouted over the truck noise, his jet black hair blowing in the wind from the open window.

            "Yea- but Ali and I arrived early, we really didn't hit any traffic," I yelled back as a semi sped past the car.

            "Exactly," Jeff said.  "I got there a few hours after you, and we sat in SIX HOURS of traffic.  Cujo had to take a piss out the window on some poor drunk guy."

            "Had to?" I skeptically raised an eyebrow.

            "Hey, he passed out.  You get what you deserve if you can't defend yourself and are stupid enough to lose consciousness on the side of the road," Josh answered from his perch in the back seat.  Josh was wearing sunglasses, even though it was dusk, to protect his dilated eyes from the waning light.

             I rolled my eyes.  "Okay, we'll drive as far as we can.  But if you get tired, we stop."

            "I promise." The boys smiled at each other and I knew all was lost.  I fell asleep in Charleston, and woke up outside of Orlando.

            "Is that Mickey Mouse?" I asked, my contact lens-covered eyes adjusting to the daylight.

            "It is," Jeff responded, biting into a handful of potato chips.

            "You drove through the night, didn't you?"

            The boys nodded in the affirmative and the trip continued.  We did beat most of the traffic, and only ended up in a line for little over an hour.  I climbed out the front passenger side window, and, using the seat as a foot board, swung myself onto the roof of the Chevy Tahoe. There was a line of cars as far as we could see, and I sat atop the SUV, holding my sister's foam butterfly on a stick that she made me promise to bring.  Sheila, as she was affectionately called, had accompanied Nicole to every Phish show since 1998, and since Nicole was flying down and didn't trust the airline to deliver Sheila, I was in charge of her.  I was going to hold Sheila up while I walked around the acres of grounds, and hope that Nicole would spot her so we could meet up.  In the days before cell phones, this seemed like an extremely innovative plan.

            The string of cars zigzagging behind us was a sight to behold.  The two-lane road wound through the swamps, and was lined on either side by marshes of tall reeds and low grasses.  Horses waded in a creek the color of mud, while hippies from across the country converged and conversed.  A band set up on the side of the road, and people emerged from their cars, dancing to enjoy the time while their vehicles inched along.  A girl skipped by blowing bubbles, and a few guys in tie dye, with scraggly beards, meandered past. 

            We were armed with tents, bug spray, and pamphlets we'd been given at the entrance to the concert, that contained yet more warnings about keeping our limbs away from alligators, and a slew of other creatures I was eager to avoid tangling with.   Reading the notes on what to do in case one of us did get involved in an encounter with a snake, spider, wild boar, or gator, I figured someone had to be the responsible one in a sea of miscreants. 

            Around my body was a patchwork wrap dress made by Nicole, held up by a curtain tie from my mom's house.  Why that curtain tie was in Tahoe is still a wonder to me, but I was grateful, since it kept the dress from dragging along the ground and causing me to trip.
            As it turned out, we didn't need Sheila, just a strong sense of observation.  While wandering past the makeshift  ice pyramid (literally sheets of rectangular ice piled on top of each other), I spotted my sister's boyfriend, and after some screaming and joyous jumping (and one of her friends poking me to ensure I wasn't a hallucination), I was taken to Nicole, who happily reunited with Sheila, and was able to call my mom from a pay phone by the ferris wheel to let her know I had found my little sister.

            By New Year's Eve night, the smell of ganga, like a skunk at its perfumed best, mixed with the body odor of thousands and dominated the clean air.  My hair was permanently wavy and stuck out at odd angles, the result of being slept on in a bun to cushion my head.  I was sweaty, oily, and wearing my third patchwork dress of the trip.  My sneakers were caked in mud from wandering into the woods the night before to embrace the makeshift drum circle, and my wrist had a tan line from the plastic green bracelet given in exchange for half my ticket at the entrance.   

            I spent much of the concert on New Year's Eve with Nic, Jeff, Josh, and my friend Ali, who had flown into Miami by accident, taken a cab to the concert, and was wearing a cardboard sign around her neck that said "Need Ride to Miami- Will Barter With Hugs."   The sign was decorated with polka dots, and her hair was held back by a bandana and a glow in the dark necklace she'd found at the show the night before. After some discussion of how to enjoy the long drive north, we decided that we should attempt to hit Universal Studios before heading home.  In order to pay for this venture, I suggested we eliminate the excess food from the back of the car.  "Are we ever really going to eat all those treats our moms bought at BJ's?" I asked.

            Jeff shrugged, "Probably not.  If you can sell them, go for it.  But if someone tries to trade you for their baked goods, just say no.   The guys down there were selling brownies, and I have a feeling they weren't the bake sale kind "  He pointed at Josh, who was lying on the ground, his mouth covered in chocolate, staring up at the streetlight. 

            "It's moving man.  I swear, it's waving to me," Josh answered. 

            I rolled my eyes and took the Rice Krispie's box, hung it around my neck with the curtain tie (it was extremely versatile), and filled it with goodies.  Nicole stuck Sheila's wire through the box.  "Ambience," she explained.

             "Rice Krispie Treats, Granola Bars!  Two dollars, or three for five bucks!" my voice carried over the notes, over and over as I meandered through the gyrating bodies, dancing and arcing to the music. 

            "I'll take three," a guy on stilts bent down and handed me a five dollar bill before continuing on his way.

            "Can I have six?" a woman with dreadlocks and a pug pulled a ten out of her bathing suit top and handed it to me. 

            "I'll trade you this dress for a couple of granola bars.  It's made out of hemp," another dreadlocked girl, this one with purple boots and oversized sunglasses offered.

            The food was gobbled up quickly, and I locked the proceeds in the glove compartment for safekeeping.  We headed over towards the music as the sun began to descend, and staked our claim with blankets and handmade wool sweaters.  Dancing around to the lyrics of Farmhouse, we sang "Welcome this is the farmhouse/we have cluster flies, alas.  And this time of year, is bad" in time to the music, while our hands kept the beat by swatting mosquitoes.  Nicole and I twirled in circles, and with two guys dressed as Tigger and Scooby Doo, respectively.   Nicole held Sheila aloft, and the butterfly matched the sky behind the stage as it turned orange and purple.   In the setting sun, the musicians almost appeared to be on fire if I squinted.  As darkness descended on the crowd, people started pulling out lighters and waving them in the air, and glowsticks and glow necklaces were thrown like Frisbees.

            "Wanna go up in the balloon?" Josh asked, and I hesitated, thinking he might have had more tainted baked goods.

            "He means the hot air balloon," Ali whispered, pointing at the giant multicolored spectacle behind me. 

            "Ah.  Yes.  Yes, let's do that," I grabbed Jeff's hand and the four of us left my sister and friends with our stuff, and ran off in the direction of the balloon.  We stood on line next to two people covered entirely in silver body paint and metallic outfits, before climbing over the rope edge and into the wicker basket.

            "I feel like Dorothy," I giggled to Ali.

            "Welcome to Oz," she smiled back, pointing down at the people who were getting smaller and smaller by the second.  For a brief moment, I thought about my fear of heights, but reconciled that the millennium only happens once every thousand years, and I should embrace floating a hundred feet above the Earth in a giant basket.  The wind was surprisingly cool as we floated higher and higher, farther away from reality and solid ground. 

            I could pick out our group, on my right near the stage, and Sheila bopping along above the fray.  As the craziness below became more distant, geometric shapes began to emerge, and an order descended on the fields and the people.  The curve of the stage, the rectangular campgrounds, the strong lines separating the mowed down pieces of field from the wild wood border.  There was such a tumultuous rolling energy, and yet there was a harmony to it all, to the way the bodies swayed in rhythm and the reeds along the edges of the grounds mimicked their movements.  Within the rebellion, the calm organization of it all permeated as people merged with nature and I felt at peace and at one with the thousands below.  In that moment, with the wind blowing us higher and higher, I realized that even within chaos, there have to be constants.  There has to be someone to record, and remember, and remind the other involved parties of the excitement and insanity that they were a part of.  In my sober state, experiencing as much of  good time my intoxicated concertgoer cohorts, embracing all the joy and bedlam they were creating, I, Miss Goody Two Shoes, was having fun.

            "They're playing 'After Midnight!" Jeff shouted, breaking my spell as strains of a funk infused version of the Eric Clapton song lifted through the air.  Below us, the masses of people realized the same thing, and that it meant this was the last song before the end of the 1900's.  

            "Woo Hoo!" we shouted, connecting with the revolution below, as a group of people looked up and cheered, pumping their fists in the air.  The balloon man, looking mildly bored, pulled on his ropes and lowered us to the ground.  Jeff jumped out first, and lifted me by my waist.  Making our way back through the people to our blanket, a low growl around us turning into a roar, as a man in a "Father Time" costume, complete with oversized costume head and three foot long beard, pedaled a giant bicycle on stage.  In time to his pedaling, a clock ticked away, counting down the minutes until midnight. 

            "Hey.  Hey- he's slowing down!" Nicole yelled, and the crowd around us started clapping, encouraging him to move his legs, but to no avail.  His shoulders began to slump, and his feet slowed their circles until they stopped.  There was a stunned moment of confusion, before Ali shouted "LOOK!" and pointed back towards the sound mixing island in the middle of the crowd.  A giant fanboat was surfing through the crowd.  Within about thirty seconds, the edges of the boat fell away to reveal a giant hot dog, and Nicole leaned towards me, "It's the meatstick from their '94 show!"

            "What the hell is a meatstick?" I asked, confused.

            "It's a giant hotdog.  And it. Is. AWESOME!" Nicole shouted over the crowd noise, whose decibels at this point were somewhere between my ears are bleeding and this is the greatest night of my life.   I decided that hanging in the middle of a sea of mostly vegetarians was the safest logical place for the giant wiener as the band jumped out of it and ran on stage.  They appeared to feed Father Time something, and then stepped back as he began pedaling with renewed vigor.  The band grabbed their instruments, and counted down with the rest of us from 10.

            "… 3…2…1… Happy New Year!" I shouted, reaching my arm out and taking a photo of Jeff and myself as we kissed to celebrate the new millennium.  Confetti was thrown, giant balloons started to fall, and the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" wafted towards us from the two story high speakers a hundred feet away.  Nicole and I bounced up and down while we hugged, and I took an photo of her reacting to a giant firework exploding over the stage.  Her sequined top, layered over the patchwork skirt and corduroy pants, reflected the flash and Josh blinked a few times and shook his head, a little confused.  A girl danced by throwing glitter. 

            "I'm the New Year's Phish Fairy," she explained, and bounded off, her wings swinging behind her.  In her wake was a balloon floating away, so I ran to catch it.  I laughed out loud, realizing it reminded me of the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka- perfectly round, and begging to be popped.  I just wanted to squeeze it.  "I want to take it home!  I said to Jeff, who responded, "Baby, I don't think it will fit in the car."

            "But I want it!" I whined, trying to fit my arms all the way around one and failed miserably as it slipped out and was promptly spiked by Josh.

            "There are some things that just need to stay at Phish shows," he smiled, watching the balloon bounce off as he wrapped his arms around me. 

            I turned to Nicole.  "Thanks for bringing me here," I shouted over the music.
          She turned and smiled at me as another firework exploded overhead.  She looked up thoughtfully, a moment of calm reflection in the insanity of the celebration.  "Here," she said, reaching out and handing me Sheila, "You've earned her."  I took the butterfly and waved her over my head, bouncing around to the notes flowing off the stage, and Jeff lifted me up and spun me around, the lights and colors and music flowing into me and out of the tips of my hair. 

            It took me a week to get all the silver specks out of my hair. I read an article in Spin magazine a month later that I cut out and added to the scrapbook containing the pamphlet, my plastic bracelet, and ticket.  It said "Phish hosted what was, in effect, a pop-cultural Roswell: ignored by the media, denied by the authorities, and far-freaking-out if you were there." Far-freaking-out indeed.  It was one of the wildest, most bizarre adventures of my life, and left me with indelible memories, an indomitable spirit, and the realization for the rest of my life that some people will see hotdogs, and think of summer barbecues, while I will forever think of four grown men floating towards a stage, and how many brownies it must have taken to convince them it was a good idea.