Scamming unsuspecting lovers via dating sites is not uncommon, but people can usually spot a fake profile from a mile away.
Compromising legitimate profiles is a much smarter, albeit more insidious, way to go.
I find this particular extension of male ego and guitar-god fantasy exhausting.
Despite these flaws and my preconceived notions of Phish being mostly hippie bullshit, I hope tonight will be a learning experience.
As Trey Anastasio and company take the stage, the smell of weed hangs in the air, and the cloud only thickens as the night progresses, as I'd expected.
But I don't get arrested, so I stand there, taking in all of the everything, I am, no joke, enjoying myself.
Though I had an overall fine time, I am no more fond of jam bands and the accompanying culture than I was at the beginning of the day.
But I can at least hope to carry these lessons of curtailing my impatience and assumptions a little more mindfully, at concerts and elsewhere in my life. That’s what all this shit is supposed to be about, right?
I can't spot or describe any memorable riffs for you, but as colorful lights flash and everyone dances around me, I can’t help but feel good. Phish return after a moderate break, curiously soundtracked by Father John Misty’s I Love You Honeybear.
(I doubt his upcoming show in Raleigh will be quite so perfectly pleasant.) But my patience begins to dwindle about a third of the way through the second set.