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Denny's #1283 Clifton Heights, Pennsylvania 12 March 2006 2:30pm EST 5321 Baltimore Pike (610) 259-1283

• Attendees: P7A77
• Wait-person(s): Kathy
• What we ate: Nothing
• Straight from the Olympic Diner was a stop off at the regional Denny's. No eating at this one, which may explain why they were actively against the concept of basic friendliness, let alone helpfulness. I asked Kathy the store number and was sternly told, "I know it, but I'm not allowed to give it out." Ooh, ooh, Kathy has a secret! Well, nanny nanny boo boo to you, too. I'm taking my ball and going to Baltimore.
• I love taking on trips, and I love even more not planning for them. I tend to compile a basic skeleton and fill in the gaps as I go along. There are always trains and buses, and I'm rarely in a hurry. Regardless, I may have overlooked a few things this time around, first in thinking that Dulles Airport was an easy commute from Baltimore at 2am on a Monday morning for a 6am flight. As the waves of denial dissipated, I came to accept that I was going to have to find another time or departure point or both. This was agreeable to me, as I didn't have to work for a few days and I was having a hell of a good time. First thing to do was find a hotel for the night. Hells yes I love the Interwow, as I used one of those last-minute hotel sites to find incredibly cheap huge rooms in lodges that had been either turning people away for lack of space, or charging crazy-talk prices. Special happy bonus was walking distance to the venue (The 8x10). But not too close, and not completely easy to remember when is walking in the opposite direction with a fried brain. We ended up a mile or so out of our way, a fact of which I became aware when I finally remembered we weren't staying anywhere near this steep hill that we kept on climbing. Happy benefit was walking by a spiffy looking church all eerily lit in the cold black emptiness of pre-dawn. Also, the circus!
• Since leaving from DC was no longer an option, I first returned to Philaldelphia with bexy, who dropped me off downtown and went on her merry way. The afternoon saw a leisurely stroll, taking in all the history. As proof, I offer you still yet another photo of the Liberty Bell. I then spent a while wandering around and taking photos for tourists so that they could be in the shots with their kids. With their cameras, that is, not mine. This all was secondary to my true purpose downtown, which was hopping on a bus to Atlantic City. Once I picked up a map and saw how close everything was, I realized that I coudln't be spitting distance from America's Playground and NOT pay it a visit. And in case I got hungry as I waited, there was a nice little donut shop behind the bus terminal that like oh my god totally has food.
• Again I wasn't thinking too far ahead. My new flight was late Tuesday afternoon out of New York. I arrived in Atlantic City Monday night. I thought I could play some poker that night and then have a nice session all the next day. But, er, yeah, buses and trains take a while to get from place to place, and my personal matter transport device was in the shop, so really the entire side-trip was for a few hours of play, and I lost hard Monday night, mostly due to poor planning and discipline. I got into a no limit hold'em game on Tuesday morning, spent about an hour getting the table read and dominated; just when I had the power and control to do what I needed, I had to leave to catch my bus. Oh well, at least I got to play at the Taj Majal and experience a bit of the closed-for-wintertime boardwalk.
• Back in NYC, I went topside from the Port Authority long enough to do what I neglected to my first pass through, which was the quintessential New York experience of eating a hot dog next to taxis and porn. Then a train ride and one direct flight later, I was home in San Francisco.
• WAY: Unknown
• Free Stuff: No

Denny's #1073 Essington, Pennsylvania 17 August 2004 8:30am EDT 47 Industrial Highway (610) 521-1077

• Attendees: P7A77, Lindee
• Wait-person(s): unknown
• What we ate: P7A77: Mini-Burgers, Water; Lindee: Lumberjack Slam, Coffee
• It was a dreary and exhausted drive back down to Philadelphia, where we stayed at the same Motel 6, which just happened to be on Rte. 420, dude. Fitting, considering the occasion. Lindee opted for the classic breakfast super-sized, better known as the Lumberjack Slam. I went with my own version of Lindee and P7 go to White Castle and after being assured I could get such things at eight in the morning, ordered up the "no sir, no trademark infringement here" Mini Burgers. This gives me hope that Denny's may some day offer chicken rings. I've touched on this topic before, but many people point to the chicken rings as a reason why White Castle is best avoided. I am not such a person; quite the opposite. Chicken products at any sort of similar establishment are over-processed garbage. White Castle is alone in standing up proud. They say, "look, we not going to lie, we know it's crap." It would be against the laws of nature for a chicken to grow in this shape. The rings get in your face with the sobering fact that you are considerably removed from the food's origin. To eat a chicken ring is to accept your place in the universe.
• I digress. When I ordered the Sliders... er, Mini Burgers, the waitress said they were good. Okay, yeah, Denny's food is usually edible in a comforting sort of way, but she was unnaturally into them, and even reiterated how much I was going to enjoy them when we were served. Obviously her dining experiences are limited if this is top on her list of cuisine worthy of gushing. But hey, I was exhausted after a week of camping, dancing, partying, and driving, and the platefulls of greasy food hit the spot. When I was ready to leave and briefly described this site while warming them up for swag, I was asked, "Why do you do this? Is this all that you do?" Like I wasn't already depressed about Phish breaking up. Way to cut to the bone there, Denny's staff.
• So what does one do after a show? Look over photos and reminisce about the experience, of course. Topmost of random joy for me was returning to the rest area and discovering we were parked behind the best Page shout-out of all, Cars Trucks Buses. Have I mentioned how much I love Page? Other random sightings include a controversial (and totally right-on) Hood sticker and a jug band with a kazoo. At one point the port-a-potties required a mounted police detail, which was amusing enough, but even better when the horse backed against one of the occupied stalls and a rather distressed woman, attempting to escape a tiny enclosed space piling over with the waste of thousands of stinky hippies on steady diets of grilled cheese and veggie burritos, unexpectedly found herself juxtaposed with a horse's ass pinning her in.
• My pal Siddhartha "Badass" Finch derives joy from ribbing me good-naturedly about shows, frequently saying things like "Thank you Trey" and posing inquiries on fairy wings. I thankfully didn't see any signs of the former, but I nearly wet myself with glee when I finally snagged a shot of the latter. And somewhere in New York you can purchase lesbians on sale for $2.99 (this week only). Yeah, you heard me. I'm not above the basest of cheap jokes.
• And that was it. Phish was over. If you'll allow me a moment of sentimentality, I'll attempt to capture the significance for me. They say music you listen to in your late teens is what will always strike that chord of nostalgia for you, and that's precisely when I was first encountered them. I was already a dorky white boy from the suburbs raised on classic rock, so it was practically inevitable. While the style of music isn't for everyone, anyone who gives the studio work a serious listen can't deny its complexity and creativity. This is what struck me first, when a friend played You Enjoy Myself in 1992. I have a musical background, and it affected me like nothing had previous. As is probably no surprise to anyone reading this site, I'm a bit of an obsessive personality, so I delved deep. Here was this fantastic music, largely instrumental, with the occasional borderline poetic but mostly goofy lyric. It was a mix of jazz, rock, bluegrass, and something else indescribable, not to mention a liberal touch of humor. It meshed with me perfectly. After a year of poring over their at the time limited catalog, someone slipped me a tape of a show, and a vastly deeper world opened up. There were a lot of the songs I knew, but they were so different! And wow, so many more equally great songs I had never heard before! They sometimes switched instruments! One of them played a vacuum cleaner and did bad covers of classic songs! They had a musical language for audience interaction and participation! They did an a cappella version of Freebird, for crying out loud! And they rocked. HARD.
• To be at a show was like nothing else. While there are structures to the songs, it was by and large improvisational. Even the composed sections varied from version to version. The setlists weren't mere collections of songs, they were entities to be taken as a whole. I was intimately familiar with the music, so I could follow along and anticipate changes, yet be surprised at the same time. I could hear hints and teases and pick up on traces of transitions that wouldn't come to fruition until sixty-four bars or more later. I felt them talking to each other musically, taking me along for the ride. And I was surrounded by thousands of people all there for the same reason, all experiencing the same thing, all of them the nicest people you ever could meet. The musicians were so in tune with each other, they moved as a unit, each of them leading and following, each constantly aware and respectful of what the others were doing. No two shows were the same, but they all built on each other. I heard songs grow and evolve over time. To be a part of that, feeling this music I loved being created before my eyes and ears, music that was simultaneously familiar and new, to be caught up in it was pure bliss, plain and simple.
• I'm idealizing a bit, as there were obvious problems that led to the break-up, but the good far outweighed the bad, and at its core, this is what it was to me. I can't listen to my recordings any more, it's affected me so deeply. And yeah, I know there are a lot of other bands out there, and I do enjoy them, but this is the one that became a part of me, and the one for which there will be no replacement. I'm sad it's over, and I'm regretful I wasn't able to attend more shows, but I'm incredibly thankful I was able to be a part of it when I was. The final show, with all the craziness, was magical. The parking lot on the freeway, the trekking for miles through farmland, the swamp of mud, the perseverance against all odds, the intense emotion from the band on that last day... all of this and much more contributed to a unique and wonderful experience, one I'm inadequately equipped to verbalize, but something I will cherish for as long as I have memory.
• And with that, I made the long journey home.
• WAY: No
• Free Stuff: Coffee Mug

Denny's #0823 Langhorne, Pennsylvania 13 August 2004 11:00am EDT 640 E. Lincoln Hwy. (215) 757-1115

• Attendees: P7A77, Lindee
• Wait-person(s): Josephine
• What we ate: P7A77: Veggie Cheese Omelette, Hashbrowns, English Muffin, Water; Lindee: Philly Melt, Seasoned Fries, Water
• So the guitarist for my favoritest band in the whole wide world - Phish - decided, "hey, I don't feel like practicing or playing well any more, so let's just break up." I, being a slobbering fanboi, immediately booked passage to the last leg of their last tour EVAR. Two shows outside of Boston, one outside of Philadelphia, and a two-day festival in northern Vermont. I reserved a fast car with no top for the trip from Philly to the festival, and I secured my plane tickets, but outside of that I was winging it. Well, I had plans to meet up with various people who promised me transportation, but we all know how those things usually work out.
• Took the redeye from Oakland to Boston, where I met up with prak, a gentleman who fears his soul will be sucked out of his eye sockets should his face be captured on film. I had never met him in person before (and obviously hadn't seen a photo), so how was I to recognize him at the airport? I looked for the guy who seemed prak-ish in nature, of course. It helped that he was wandering around in a prak-like manner looking for me. It helped more that he was late and I was the only person sitting at baggage claim. It helped still yet even more that he was one of the elite few who received a Project: Denny's t-shirt and chose to wear it (and as you can tell from the faded yellow in the photo, he's worn (or at least washed) it a lot). I was wearing my old-skool Denny's logo shirt, so we must've looked like a convention. A scary, greasy, borderline serial killer convention.
• It was a beautiful weekday morning in Boston, and I had never been, so we wandered around downtown a bit. And lemme tell ya something... Bostonians (at least the white collar workforce) are a grumpy bunch. I don't understand it. They get to walk around one of our oldest and most charming cities on a gorgeous day, and they're all scowling. I smilled at everyone I could, and not one returned it. Maybe I've been made soft by left coast living, because people in the SF Bay area smile back! They say hello! They acknowledge your existence! I mean, if YOU saw a tall happy dude with a giant backpack lumbering down the street with a big dopey grin, wouldn't you at least be mildly amused? Not these folks. Oh well. Who needs 'em! They don't even have a Denny's anywhere nearby. Maybe that's why they're grumpy.
• Lacking Denny's, we traveled by bus, foot, and train to Sunny's Diner, a little hole in the wall behind a gas station near one of those higher learning institutes they have out there. For some reason they have Simpson's memorabilia plastered everywhere. For some other reason, I didn't get photos of any of it. I had the spinach and feta omelette; prak the Gentle Giant. It was all delicious.
• From there prak hung out with me at the train station where I kicked his ass at Gin Rummy before boarding the commuter line down to Mansfield, a city with no Denny's, and the site of the first shows. I had plans to meet up with two random dudes who were giving me lodging and a ride to Philadelphia, Nick and Willly. Note the "what the fuck?" look Willy shot me. I like that about him the best. We hung out in the lot and commenced lot-type activities. After grabbing the obligatory New England Phish show Hood photo, we went into the venue. Lodging for the night was Willy's girlfriend Noah's house in Providence (another town with no Denny's), where I slumbered on the most uncomfortable couch in the world, at least for someone of my rather lengthy frame trying to sleep. There was also a notable lack of hot water. Good times. And I mean that sincerely. My hosts were quite gracious and even warmed up to my Clif Bars after a while. Or at least pretended to.
• Time to geek out for a minute here. I'd been going to Phish shows for ten years, and I had never seen my favorite "small" song, Suzy Greenberg. I plugged all my shows into a site that tracks stats, and it was top of the list of songs I should have seen already, with a 1.8% likelihood of not having seen it based on whatever it is they base those things on. Since all my stories have happy endings, astute readers not bored to tears by my Phish blathering have probably figured out that they busted out with it in Mansfield. Second night, second song, and it just tore shit up. My first Suzy, the last Suzy. As soon as the first notes started up, my undivided attention was on the music, grin solidly planted on face. Tight, fun version, with a little "curtain call" reprise afterwards. A fitting final version of the song, and I was pleased to get it out of the way so I wouldn't be itchy about it for the rest of the tour. Oh, and I totally called the Antelope second set opener.
• And now the plans started to fall apart. Nwickilly were skipping the Camden show and heading straight up to Vermont. They were willing to give me a ride to Philly anyway, in exchange for my extra ticket for the sold-out festival, but getting out of the lot that second night was insane. Nobody was moving and time was ticking down. To cut to the chase, we woke up some people to check transit schedules and prices, and I ended up taking Amtrak from Providence to Philadelphia, the commuter rail from there to the airport, then a taxi to the Motel 6. As I was checking in, the woman at the counter asked if I was there for the show, and put me in a room next to other people in town for same. And it was even room 420, dude. Well, okay, room 421. Close enough for a silly reference. And check this out, the motel was right next to a Denny's! Bet ya thought I wouldn't get around to that, eh? Well, hold your horses because I didn't eat there yet.
• Taking advantage of my room placement, I hit up the guys next door (Justin, Dylan, and Kibbel... I may be wrong on that last one... at least I hope so) for a ride to the show, which they gladly gave me in exchange for my purchasing for them some beverages of a certain distilled nature. Lordy, but I'm getting old. They regaled me with tales of cooking moonshine in the hills of West Virginia and seemed in awe of my first shows, as they've become historically significant. Lordy, but I'm getting old. They happened to be from Beckley, which is the town where Das Büs broke down and required a new transmission back in the day. It's also the name of my cat. I lost track of them in shakedown street, so I picked up a new pipe (going out of business sale! everything must go!) and headed in. I didn't take my camera that day, which sucked because the venue was right on the waterfront, with a beautiful view of the bridge and Philadelphia skyline. At one point I saw a woman taking photos and freaked her out because she thought I was busting her for having a camera, but no, I just wanted her to take a shot and send it to me. The file name she assigned was "who is this guy.jpg". You can't see the bridge or skyline, but you can see me doing I don't even know what with my hands.
• After the show I wandered around the lot advertising gas money and a free meal at Denny's for anyone willing to give me a ride. Tim and Sam took me up on my offer and proceeded to get lost driving around New Jersey until we finally made our way over the bridge. Bet ya think I'm going to talk about Denny's now, right? Shows what you know, because they merely accepted gas money and went on their way. I hung out with the Beckley guys for a bit and then took full advantage of having a mattress for a change.
• Next morning I shared a cab with a guy to the airport, where I was meeting up with Lindee and renting a car for the trip to Vermont. And one of the first things we did was... wait for it... EAT AT DENNY'S. I had the veggie omelette to celebrate the veggie burritoness of the lot scene. The english muffin was for New England. Lindee's Philly melt for obvious reasons. And all of this I'm just making up right now. My hashbrowns were raw and the english muffin wasn't toasted. What the meal lacked in quality it at least made up for in quantity. They get bonus points for garnishing with parsley. As this was my first Denny's trip in almost two years, I was out of practice and forgot to get any photographs. We snagged one in the parking lot.
• See? And you thought I'd never get around to the Denny's part. Have faith in me, dear reader. I may tease, but I know where your g-spot is.
• WAY: No
• Free Stuff: Summer Deal Menu Insert

Denny's #1574 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 12 March 2006 1:00pm EST 4020 City Ave. (215) 473-9260

• Attendees: P7A77, bexy, HanzerBiscuit, Rebecca
• Wait-person(s): Tanya
• What we ate: P7A77 - Feta & Spinach Omelette, Home Fries, Toast, Coffee, Water; bexy: Mushroom & Feta Omelette, Home Fries, Toast, Coffee, Water; Hanzer: Hotcakes & Bacon, OJ, Coffee; Rebecca: 2 Eggs Over Easy, Sausage, Fries, Ketchup (none of this at Denny's)
• It's been established that in many ways I'm an unwashed barefoot stinky hippie. Granted, my near obsession with a multi-billion dollar franchise corporation may not speak directly to this, and I've been known to wash behind my ears from time to time, but let's place those tidbits neatly aside for the moment. I particularly dig the music and at times take extended holidays primarily for such. It's not that I use up a good chunk of my available time, money, and resources going around seeing the same four guys play from the same catalog of songs night after night; it's that I travel and see new places while listening to music I enjoy, but rather than wearing out the same pile of albums, I get custom remixes every time, straight from the source. Plus, I dance much as what one might imagine would a hobbled kangaroo, if that wretched beast also had no sense of rhythm and an assortment of facial tics. But I enjoy myself, and they generally let me do what I want at these shows, so everybody wins. And by everybody, I mean me.
• One current fascination is the San Francisco group Tea Leaf Green. I missed a three show California run and there were no public plans for regional performances again for quite a while, and sitting there nice and pretty on the East Coast was a whole assload of shows. The thing about the eastern US is the major metropolitan areas are so darned close to each other. I picked a cluster of cities I wanted to visit and booked it. The plan went from spark of idea to signed sealed and delivered in about an hour. The band is currently at a point between near complete obscurity and limitless fame, so I figured this would be the last opportunity to see them in clubs as small as they were playing. Four shows, three cities, four days. And while for most people you seen one noodly jamband you seen 'em all, this one sometimes plays with a smoking giraffe. Okay, it was only that one time. But still.
• I flew into JFK and was promptly almost arrested for taking photographs of a public building. Mmm, Bush's America. Smell the Freedom! So instead I captured the decay of one of modern architecture's finest achievements. This fit in well with my state of the mind at the time, a topic not for now.
• While in New York I visited legendary museums, danced in trendy clubs, and attended world-class theater. Ha. What I really did was march in a parade, kiss a flying cow, pose for ice skaters, visit briefly with Brian (who was working on some deadline that wasn't really a deadline but was still driving him nuts and I'm so glad I'm out of the rat race), took a carriage ride with Jim through Central Park (no make-outs this time, although we did discuss at length the pending demise of civilization), and even managed to work in an inebriated dawn-time run to Battery Park. An evil monkey took control of the television, but we try not to think about it.
• After two nights at the Knitting Factory in NYC and partying with the fabulous East Coast TLG fans, it was time to cruise over to Philadelphia with bexy, who was kind enough to not only drive but let me crash at her house, which just happened to be a few blocks from the venue (North by Northwest), all the while making no comment at all about my slicing a gash through infinitives, not to mention my penchant for run-on sentences.
• The plan was a post-show brunch at Denny's, but they were proving rather busy. Tanya had no clue about anything, and when asked about free stuff she informed me there was another Denny's down by the airport. Yes, I know, I was there the last time I was in the area following music, this does not help me now.
  
• Rather than wait in the lobby for fifteen minutes, for some reason it was determined wiser to drive for forty minutes to the Olympic Diner, which brags the best breakfast in town, this town being the next one over. We took the available seats at the counter and were promptly ignored for another half an hour. Upon attempting to get someone's attention just to, y'know, let 'em know we were there and had cash money in hand ready to thrust in their fat little faces in exchange for edibles, one waitress cranked, to nobody in particular, "goddamn kids always in a hurry."
• WAY: No
• Free Stuff: Nothing

Denny's #1838 Washington, Pennsylvania 1-Dec-96, 3:50pm EST 1395 W. Chestnut St., I-70 exit 4 (412) 222-5555

• Attendees: P7A77
• Wait-person(s): Mary
• What we ate: Nothing
• Mary was very friendly to me, but she said she had only been there for two months, so maybe she just hadn't been broken yet.
• WAY: No
• Free Stuff: Dessert Pin

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