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HOME || HAIL, HAIL || MORE WINES WITH BREE || A FEVER DREAM: RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL DUDE || BREE'S TAKE
Despite our attempts to put on a brave face and carry on, I suppose it was obvious that Madame and I were down in the dumps. Finally, Dolphin Girl, in an attempt to pull us out of our funk, suggested that we revisit the spirit of our misspent youth and join her at the Wrathberry Rock & Retribution Festival this past summer. We had to admit, the thought of seeing and hearing the likes of the Grateful Dudes, Bob Drillin, Widespread Picnic and Cream Cheese Instrument intrigued us, so we took the plunge and off we went. Pets and glass bottles were expressly forbidden at the festival, but that didn't stop us from sneaking the Dobies and a case of Mystery Ridge into the campgrounds. Don't ask me how we did it, because I'm going to try again next year. I can't say much more than the fact that it involved the use of smoke and mirrors. We set up our camp and didn't have any trouble getting into the festive spirit that permeated the air, accompanied by the pungent aromatics of exotic burning materials and the calls from amateur vendors, such as, "Head lice, two for free!" The music was roaring, the hippies were tripping and the vibrations were positively 4th Street. The lads, however, remained uneasy, constantly sniffing the air and whimpering softly. Since many others were making no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that they had brought their pets (or their bottles), I decided to take the canine trio for a walk around the grounds, which they were obviously only too eager to do. In fact, they were so rarin' to go, it was as if they were on a mission. |
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| As we were making our way down the dusty lane known informally as "Bakedown
Street," where the unofficial vendors were set up to sell all manner of
wares, K-J, K-mus and Turdley caught wind of a scent that drove them to
such a frenzy, they tore their leashes out of my hand and made a mad
dash down the road for parts unknown. I followed as quickly as I could,
and didn't have to give chase all that far, finding them all over a
scruffy, surly old hippy set up selling grilled cheese sandwiches made
in a greasy cast iron skillet on a butane stove. From afar, it looked like the lads were mauling the poor guy, but the closer I got, the more obvious it became that they were licking him profusely and that he was returning their affection with equal enthusiasm. It was only when I was right next to them that I was dumbstruck to realize that the scruffy old hippy was none other than califusa himself! "Bree?," I asked incredulously. "Dude, is that you?!" We flew into each others arms and hugged each other warmly while the lads continued to jump all over us, knocking us down and covering us with doggie drool. When we had finally regained some sense of composure and wiped most of the dog spit off of us, I had to ask the obvious questions. "Bree, what are you doing here and why did you disappear?!" "Man, after the whole ordeal with those Shape Shifters," he explained, "I just lost it and had to get lost. I knew you'd watch after the lads, so I hit the road and wandered for weeks. I just happened to stumble onto some old friends from back in the old days and they took me along with them to a rock concert that blew my mind and gave me a sense of belonging. Ever since then, I've been on tour with the Grateful Dudes. The grilled cheese pays the way." That's when it struck me, like a bag of manure right in the face. Like so many others of his and younger generations, califusa had become an acolyte of dudeness. He was consumed with dudidity to the point of becoming a vagabond on the rock & roll highway. That may be fine for college dropouts, but Bree is a talented short order cook, and I had to do something quickly to snap him out of it. Despite recognizing me, he was still somewhat out of touch with reality, and not necessarily in a good way. That's when I hatched my cunning plan. "Turn off the stove for a few minutes and come back to camp with me," I told him. "The Kiminator and Dolphin Girl are here, and they're not going to believe seeing you. Talk about blowing some minds!" "A splendid idea," he agreed, and we trundled back to our pavilion, with the lads nipping playfully at our heels. As I expected, Madame and D.G. were as stunned to see our old friend as I, but not so much so that they too didn't run and embrace him for a long, long time. While this was going on, I quickly pulled to cork from a bottle of Mystery Ridge and poured glasses all around to celebrate the reunion. Bree took one sip and the light slowly began to come back into his eyes. "I'd forgotten just how good this stuff is," he exclaimed. By his second glass, he'd actually regained a semblance of his old self, shedding much of the surly grilled cheese peddler persona that he exhibited when I found him shortly before. We had a riot at the festival and finding califusa made things even better. Afterwards, we persuaded him to give up touring with the Dudes, and instead, come back to Day-twah with us for a very special reunion with Merry Larry and the Canadian Wine Wanker. All was right with the world once again. And so it goes.
HOME ||
HAIL, HAIL ||
MORE WINES WITH BREE
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A FEVER
DREAM: RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL DUDE
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BREE'S TAKE
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