Two parrots appear to be pecking at Umphrey’s McGee lead guitarist Jake Cinninger during the band’s show on Vanderbilt Avenue outside Grand Central Station as part of the Green Apple Music Festival in April:
I wasn’t meant to take this photo, but I did anyway. Either the Oakland A’s White Elephant is a newly deputized Border Patrol agent or he’s just posing with this nice lady while her sister snaps el souveniro. Interestingly, I took this shot a few innings after Barry Bonds crushed #714 into the McAfee Coliseum stands, tying Babe Ruth’s mark. The crowd cheered the villainous Bonds’ accomplishment, but I surmised we were cheering for another reason altogether:
Before his notorious run-in with the law, Trey had his lucid moments this year. One of them came when he joined Cactus’ Ramble Dove outfit in New York at the end of May, conspiring with his former partner to Phish up the honky tonk. I snapped this shot as the pair discussed how fucking awesome it’d be to dump Fishman and Page in favor of The Duo. “Oh definitely,” Trey whispers, “they suck.”
Shampoo…now for terrorists! They tell me it makes the hair as soft and perky as the budding breasts of 72 virgins:
If you’re ever just over the Delaware River in Wayne County, Pennsylvania, Dianna’s Place will serve you a most delicious breakfast that you’ll remember for a lifetime (and shit out in 10 minutes). I call this “Needs More Bacon”:
Even better than Dianna’s…if you ever get a chance to stand less than five feet away from Joe Russo in action, take it, just take it and hold onto it tightly like the Golden Ticket to Wonka’s factory ’til you get all the way home and show that leech Grandpa Joe. The human octopus is a show unto himself, and unapologetically hovering over him for an hour while the band played nothing but Zeppelin tunes (on a boat circling Manhattan, no less) was one of the cooler musical experiences I had all year:
The stork brought me a nephew in March that I will one day take to Yankees’ games and hippie concerts. I love this shot, if only because he’s dressed like a dignified septuagenarian in a cardigan and pinstriped pants, yet he’s sporting both a bib and a smattering of strained food all over his face. Gerber owns his face:
Eleven hours inside the Bohemian Hall Beer Garden in Astoria yielded the following: “…at least 15 pitchers drank, three World Cup games watched, four enormous sausage platters devoured, two large sections of hooaagie (Philly spelling) eaten, two rock hard bagels picked at, and three packs of smokes and a bunch of one-ys inhaled.” Now that’s an all-bets-are-off kinda day:
Anyone got some pictures to share with the rest of the class, something from the Photobucket or ImageHost archives of which you’re particularly proud? Considering everyone I know has a digital camera with them at all times, there’s gotta be some amateur shutterbugging goin’ on aroun these here parts. Whip ’em out…
(In the interests of full disclosure, parts of this post can also be seen on Slack LaLane)
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