At this time last year, I was holding my annual birthday/holiday bash at my apartment in Tarrytown, New York. I had just finished taking my last batch of fall semester finals, leaving one lonely semester left in my college career. It dawned on me that I did not know of a life that did not involve classrooms, number 2 pencils, and homework assignments. I felt peculiar.

In any case, the party came and went without much to muse over. Then, the big decision. New Years. What band to see? Where to go? At the very last possible minute (we're talking about 3:00pm on the day of the show...) I was heading to Philadelphia, my most favorite city, to see the Disco Biscuits. After a four sets of music, and a total of twelve hours of mayhem, I drove through the morning fog up the Jersey Turnpike, back to the apartment. I still do not really know how I did it. When I arrived back at my place, I almost expected there to be the leftover rubble from some sort of mass destruction. Or perhaps people running in the streets, frantic and helpless. Instead, I did not even find a tree branch out of place or a string of lights flickering wildly. It was the same old block, same old place, same old street... just another New Years passing us by.

About a week later, I made my first trip to California -- Los Angeles, specifically -- to visit some family and interview my dad's cousin for my senior thesis. I spent three days learning about the Holocaust from a survivor's point of view. I do not remember much of this trip, except for the fact that I found solace in an overpriced Kinko's with internet access; 12 bucks an hour. I would look out at Los Angeles, almost as if their little world was passing me by, while I clung on to familiarity through zeros and ones. I don't think I was ready for Los Angeles. I probably never will be.

The news was waiting for me when I returned home: Marc Brownstein had been asked to leave the Disco Biscuits. It was devastating. In 1999, the Biscuits had become such a large part of my life. I would see them every chance I could. I felt as if those people were my second family. And all of that seemed to be gone with that one harsh decision. Everything was slipping away.

January also saw me travelling to Cleveland and Columbus, Ohio, to see moe. It was really the first time that I had gone that far to see a band play. Sure, I had traveled up and down the east coast (but never very south) to see Phish or the Disco Biscuits, but moe. was still very new to me; the Ohio shows only marking number four and five. I realized that there's a charming and exciting element in seeing bands in new, interesting places. It is the unfamiliarity that makes it so interesting, I think.

While January was full of travel and new beginnings, my year started to slowly go downhill. February and March saw me struggling through my last semester of my senior year, more so than I had ever before. I could not seem to get my thesis completed. Deadlines were rapidly approaching, and I had no idea how to get into the groove of it all. The Biscuits, as a trio, came back to do a show at the Wetlands. I couldn't enjoy them, not that night. It would take a whole lot for me to have my old feelings return.

I think that in April, I finally hit rock bottom.

Nothing was going right. I lost my band, I lost a boyfriend, and I barely even had school to hold on to anymore. I continued to see bands here and there, but my days were lonely and unsettling. My apartment got broken into. It seemed as if I had nothing at all to make me smile.

That is, except a nice pile of tickets -- eighteen of them, to be exact -- to see Phish over the summer. I had decided, in a moment of pure insanity, that for my graduation present I wanted to go on Phish tour. That's right, me. On tour. Seeing Phish. I did not know how I'd do it, or what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that it had to happen.

My graduation from college was more of a surprise to me than it was to my parents, who all stood around crying during the ceremony ("They were tears of joy!" my mother had said, while my dad said, "I always knew you could do it, even when you had us scared for awhile!" Ha!) I walked up, heard my name called, shook some people's hands, and that was it. That was it?!? Years and years of agony and essays and math requirements and sleepless nights and that is it? I left my cap and gown on and head down to Radio City Music Hall -- to see Phish.

"Did you actually graduate today?"
"Yeah!"
"What are you going to do with your life?"
"SEE MORE PHISH!"

I was only half-kidding.

A few weeks later, in early June, I started making lists upon lists of things I needed to do before Phish tour, for Phish tour, during Phish tour, and consequentally, after Phish tour. I was still very down on myself, as the previous half-year was not exactly full of happiness for me, but a night of seeing moe. at Irving Plaza changed all that.

It was not that moe. put on such an amazing show that night. I just finally found peace in music, something I hadn't felt for quite some time, especially with all the drama still brewing over by Biscuits Central. I laughed, danced, and drank myself silly and went home content. The next night was the second of a three-night run at Irving. This time, I put on my nicest summer outfit, took in the scenery, and practically bounced right into the arms of a friend of a friend.

"Do you know Rob?" my friend asked.
I giggled and hugged the stranger. "I do now!"
The oddest thing was, he didn't pull away so quickly.

I spent the rest of the night craving his company, hoping to get to know him better. It dawned on me, though, that from how I was acting, he must have thought I was such a happy person. I realized just then that I finally was. I think that made all the difference.

I left for Phish tour with two huge bags filled with clothing. I realized about three or four days into the month-long trip that I'd be comfortable wearing the most simple things possible. A few weeks later, when the shows were local to my apartment, I dropped off more than half the clothing in the bag. I was learning how to maximize enjoyment and comfort by minimizing stress and constraints. I think I was finally figuring it all out, without even thinking much about it. I was listening to music almost nightly. Incredible, passionate music. I was embraced by a beautiful mix of people, each and every one of them sharing something genuinely special and memorable with me as each small moment passed.

I'll never have that again. Not like that, anyway.

I returned home from Phish tour with one goal in mind: I was going to move to Philadelphia. So there I was, looking at places to live, browsing the local music scene there, and mentally preparing myself as much as possible for this bizarre 'new life' that I think the history books are calling 'the real world.'

I remember going into this little furniture place nearby my mother's house to look at some tables that I would think about putting in a new apartment. As I was trying to calculate some figures, the most calming feeling came upon me. I had this amazing mental picture. Me, beautiful wooden furniture, all the colors I had always dreamed about having accent my home. My own, wonderful home. And it was not in Philadelphia. I could just tell. As crazy as this sounds, I went back to my mother's house and sat down on one of the couches and cried my eyes out.

"I don't want to go to Philly," I blurted.
"I know," she grinned. "Welcome home."

And the thing is, I still would love to go there to live. Someday. I just knew that now was not the time. So did everyone around me. For the first time since I'd returned from tour, I felt like I had a real direction. Funny how that happened the minute I stopped planning it all out so much.

Using this new non-planning directive, August and everything after (no pun intended, although that particular album is quite dapper, if I do say so myself) was full of new musical experiences. The Biscuits had asked Marc to be back in the band, and Camp Bisco, in turn, was almost like a family reunion of sorts... a family that had undergone certain untimely tragedy and gathered to bring each other back together by being together again. The Berkfest was where I was introduced to the talent of Keller Williams, who began shaping a new direction for me as far as taste and style went. I was opening myself up to so many new sounds and loves.

I think that by the time I was interviewing Keller at the Khyber Pass in Philadelphia in late October, I felt as if I'd made some real progress with myself. I was unsure about how that trip would effect me in the short run, but there I was, simply able to enjoy the city for what it was, and looking forward to going home, where I truly belonged. It was a certain closure that I needed desperately. And I loved every single minute of it.

As November and December are traditionally the months of giving and celebration and thanks, I do not think I can go without extending my sincere thanks to some of the people who have shaped my first year with Jambands - the year 2000 - as beautifully strange as it was:

Carol Wade, Aaron Radder, and Jesse Jarnow: thank you for helping me to get my ass in gear and encouraging me to start doing this column. Without your prodding and well wishes, I probably would not have been able to put my words out there.

Laura Heifetz: I could not have gotten through school without you. Actually, I do not think I can get through the rest of it without you either, so don't go anywhere.

David Steinberg and Sarah Bruner: Goodness gracious, how could I even explain how much your continued support and guidance have meant to me? You two have done nothing but be angels and I appreciate it. And David... thanks for the duckies.

Dean Budnick: If it was not for you giving me this opportunity, I would have never been able to do any of the things mentioned above. I cannot thank you enough. Here's to 2001...

and finally,
Rob Lichtenstein: Thank you for being you. I haven't stopped smiling for six months now. Thank you for your support, your smiles, and your love. You are an inspiration to me.

--

So the world didn't blow up like I'd thought. In fact, nothing went smoothly, neatly, or like I'd planned at all. But sometimes you'll find that you can rhyme anything with anyone. All the best for 2001...

~elg~