Check Your Fish Before Eating. Just Do It. Thank Me Later.

It's been a great tour, but it's all got to wind down at some point.  The boys of TVF have one more show left, and then they return to the great state of MA.  I guess I can't really judge how the tour has really been, seeing as I actually wasn't there...but I made great day sheets!  I really did.  I put down the closest Wal-Mart at every tour stop.  And an amp repair shop.  

Where was I?  I was at home.

A series of unfortunate events unfolded themselves right before I was supposed to depart with The Venetia Fair.

  

This was just one of the days.

My grandfather now rests, and I got a fishbone stuck in my insides.

My esophagus, to be exact.  It seems to be the case at all Italian functions, funerals included, that food plays a dominant role.  Following our final goodbyes to my grandfather, we proceeded to a nice restaurant in Queens, where I ingested many a great food item.  Sadly, I didn't check my fish well enough whilst nom-ing, and--WOOPS!  It seems that a small fishbone is now tickling my diaphragm from inside of my esophagus.  

And when I say tickling, I mean stabbing violently.  

Night in the Hospital: not as fun or profitable as Ben Stiller's Night in the Museum

We didn't really know it was that bad, at first.  I spent a couple of days thinking that I had bad gas, that I ate too much, that there was a little too much Italian magic in the food that weekend.  The bone was unknowingly lodged in me on a Friday, but I didn't go to the ER until Sunday.  

Oh, the fine doctors thought it was a lot of things.  Hepatitis, kidney stones, heart attack (wha??), ulcer, a hernia, gastritis, a bacteria colonizing my insides.  They sent me home with some antacid and told me to follow up.  See ya.

They never shut the lights off in the hospital, or close the door all the way.

I did follow up, and was told I needed to have a camera put down my throat.  YESSSSSSSS.

That was scheduled for Wednesday.  BUT IT'S MONDAY WAAAAAAAAH IT HURTS NOWWWWW.  

If smell could come through photos, this would be a putrid photograph.  

Actually, it did really hurt...REAL BAD.  So we finagled a few bagels, pushed a few buttons, and boom, I'm in the waiting room on Tuesday being denied service because I apparently don't have an appointment.  But we worked it out, I got in, they stuck a camera down my throat, the doctors had a good laugh, I wake up from sleepy-fun and then go back into sleepy-fun to get it removed this time, and then, HEY.  It's gone for good and now it's on display on my bureau.   

This was in me.

Lots of could-haves on this one, starting with the most painful, which is that I could have chewed correctly, like a fully-functioning adult.  But hey, bones are sneaky in your food.  Watch out for them all.  

Vegans around the world rejoice at the fish taking its revenge on the evil humans.  Pescatarians shiver.

If I had waited until Wednesday to get that camera in my throat, then I might not be so alive a boy.  Something about blood turning to poison, coma, puncturing diaphragm, contaminating my chest cavity.  No way to tell.

  

It didn't happen, though, so we're all happy about that.  Two days of the jell-o diet, courtesy of Mr. Bill Cosby himself.  

Except make it the red kind that turns to water if you leave it out of the refrigerator too long.

I'm on soft foods now, which is basically anything that doesn't require chewing.  We'll get back to toddler-level motor skills at some point, I'm sure of it, but for now overcooked pasta is just great for me.  

So plans went awry, it happens.  I've made the best of it all.  Some days the best was getting out of the house to go to a music store around the corner, other days the best was stumbling around Salem in a Jell-O induced drunken state with my girlfriend chasing me and telling me that I'm an idiot.  JUST THE BEST.

As for The Venetia Fair?  I've talked to Ben a few times since they left, and the tour has been going great.  My protege, Dump (honestly, who names their kid Dump?), has been at the helm of the merch stand, hopefully entertaining and blasting off on to all of you.  

"You've got to live on, merch stand.  DO YOU HEAR ME?!  LIVE GODDAMMIT."

My girlfriend just left for a month-long trip in Europe.  I weep.  BUT my boys are coming back in a couple of days, I'm playing music with some nice folks in Jamaica Plain, and the good doctor told me that I'm free to eat real food as soon as I can take a deep breath and not cringe.

I WILL EAT EVERY FISH THAT IS LEFT ON THIS PLANET.*

Wake up, Antwon.

*which I've heard is not very many.

What is this "Home" thing you speak of?

HOLLLLY CRAP I'm standing still.


Tour was so busy and fun-filled that it felt like I didn't get to take any pictures.  Kyle was making a toast to the band during my last blog.  Kezia and I had just landed in Detroit and we were partying up in the hotel room, getting ready for our first shows as a real four-piece.


Our first was in Ann Arbor, MI at The Ark, a great little theater that we jam packed full of Julia Nunes fans.  One thing that I was looking forward to in Ann Arbor was the greatest burritos in all of the world, courtesy of BTB, a late night hotspot for most U.Mich students.  I didn't remember the name of the place, so I called up my good friend Patrick, a school year Ann Arbor resident.  What a joyous surprise, PATRICK WAS IN ANN ARBOR YESSSSSSSS YESSSSSSSS yessssssssssssssssssssss.s..s.s.s...


Julia got a few gifts in the merch line last night, including much U.Mich Wolverine garb, a stuffed wolverine, a serenade from a fan, a neck pillow, and an oil painting.  That last one went nicely on the back bench, and I'm happy to say it made it all the way through the tour in one piece.  

After the Ann Arbor show, Zach did some light raging by himself.  Displeased with our partying skills, Zach grabbed a wine bottle and ran out of the hotel to find people who really wanted to party.  Realizing that it's both dangerous and illegal to run around in public with a bottle of wine, our Tour Manager Kyle took to the van to track down our inebriated drummer.  


After doing a few circles around the premises, we were relieved to find Zach lying on his back on a patch of the grass, gazing at the stars.


"Man...look at all the stars...it's not like back home.  You can see the Big Dipper," he mused.  


Zach then returned to the hotel room and proceeded to throw up.  


In the morning, he was back to his shining self, laughing his ass off at clips from Rookie of the Year.

Red Roof's terrible wireless caters to Zach's porn addiction.

The next day we blasted down into Indiana.  It was a cautious blast, as I'm very weary of the state of Indiana.  Dark times there.  But also, some really awesome fun-filled times.  I can say this much, though: the people of that state are a special breed. 

Everyone that came out to the show at Radio Radio were just the best.  Zach, Dana, and I hung out by the stage after the show, and we were surprised at how many people walked over to say hi.  

We didn't spend a long time in Indiana, as we needed to get down to Tennessee in time for Bonnaroo.  We stopped to rest in Nashville, as Julia had a dinner date with Mr. Ben Folds and his family.  The rest of the band kept busy downtown with some frozen yogurt that costed $10 a cup.  (They were big cups, to be fair.)

After punching Ben's wife in the face (it was an accident...) Julia and her crew piled back into the van to get some rest.  The next day: Bonnaroo.

Bonnaroo could best be described as summer camp for grown ups.  Granted, the grown ups sometimes acted more immature and incapable than most 10-year-olds, but we'll blame that on the brown acid.

What can I say about Bonnaroo?  It was a hot mess.  96 degrees everyday, 100% humidity.  It was hotter than two rats humping in a wool sock.  I originally resolved to not shower for the duration of the festival.  I quickly cast this idea aside when I woke up covered in sweat and three forms of fungus growing in my armpit.  

The showers didn't even help, really.  You just didn't stop sweating, ever.  Even after a cold shower, you maybe had the walk from the showers to your tent before you started sweating again.  

Our first performance was on Friday, the first show of the day at This Tent.  Even when we pulled up, there was already a crowd gathering.  

By showtime, the tent was packed.  More people than I'd ever played for, all lined up and eager for us.  I figured half of them had no idea what they were even about to see.  Fortunately for them, we put a pretty good show.

Between the NPR and YouTube livecasts, along with the thousands of people walking by the stage and to the sides, we must have played to over 50,000 people worldwide.  And I don't even know what I'm talking about.


It was a rush for me.  The best part?  Not an ounce of nervousness.  I was with a well-rehearsed group, a strong leader, and a professional crew was making us sound awesome.  I sang, I played, I danced, all in my cutoffs.  And no, Julia didn't make me wear those.  (Yes, I do read the YouTube comments.)  Short shorts are coming back.  Just you watch.

30 minutes before showtime.

Highlights from the festival included a cool-down rainstorm during The Avett Brothers, and Andy Hull (of Manchester Orchestra) completely ignoring me upon being introduced.  He is still the best.  


Julia also went onstage with Weezer!  What?!

It might not have been the smoothest performance, but it was true JuNu fashion: keep moving, keep dancing, keep having fun.  We're looking forward to trying that again sometime soon.  Rivers, make that happen, okay?

Soon enough it was Sunday evening, Dave Matthews Band was playing, and we were fully ignoring them in the meal tent.  Kyle put it out there that he most definitely did not want to spend one more night camping out, so we got our shtuff together and hit the road.  So long, Bonnaroo.

You can bet all of the tripping Bonnaroo people thought this cloud was the Armageddon.

I don't think anyone but Zach and Kyle really knew exactly what happened on the ride home that night.  That's even an iffy assumption.  I dozed off around midnight, and I woke up at various points between then an 7 AM.  These are some of my recollections.

• Kyle blasting Kings of Leon.
• Zach blasting various songs from the 1960s.
• Kyle pooping at a rest stop in a door-less stall.
• Kyle being fully asleep behind the wheel for a good five seconds.
• Kyle slapping himself to stay awake.
• Being stopped at a truckstop at 4 AM.  
• The trucks kept honking.  
• I don't know why.

Around 7 AM, we rolled up to Kyle's buddy Ben's home around Cincinnati, OH.  We recharged with some sleep in a man-cave, had about fifty pancakes, and got back on the road again and headed north.

Zach talked to me a lot about living it up on tour.  This could be it, he said.  We're all heading into the real world soon.  Bills, health-insurance, finding our own places to live.  Nothing's guaranteed to last when you're a musician.  Bands rarely do Bonnaroo two years in a row.  Three?  Out of the question. 

So we did live it up.  

We were in great company, we were playing music, and we got to see some other great bands play.

My merch girlfriend Kez dreams of endless lines at the JuNu store.

So what's next for us?  As usual, there is just no way to tell.  I eagerly anticipate hitting the road again, because, really, what's the fun in staying at home while there's fun to be had in shitty clubs across the country?

I'll be coming at you soon, in some shape or form.  My future most likely looks like this:

Mike's return to The Venetia Fair's van.

But there's a chance it might look like this:

Either way, vanflip.  

Get at me on Twitter, or ask me any question you can think of on my Formspring.