There's Magic in Those Mushrooms
Top story of the weekend: A 21-year-old college student from Delaware allegedly ate a bunch of mushrooms and stole two cars before getting lost twice in Connecticut, more than 300 miles from home. The three-day bender ended when the confused lad called police to say, "I think I stole a car...I'm not sure." This article is a must read.
Now the Ace Cowboy knows what this young hipster doofus may have been going through. One of my first times eating mushrooms happened to be the exact day I finished reading Keruoac's classic On the Road. And due to the fact that I was 18 and, for all intents and purposes, invincible, it took an awful lot of effort to keep me from taking off to All Points West in my parent's car. My better judgment kept me stationary, and boy did it pay off...
Later that evening, I bore witness to a spectacular scene. We walked into my buddy's living room, and a bag of those boomers that had been sitting on the table were mysteriously missing. Well, technically the bag was still there, only it was in tatters, torn to smithereens if you will. Someone, I don't remember who, and you don't fuckin' know them anyway so relax, but someone noticed that my buddy's dog had been hiding under the table with her paws over her ears for about ten minutes. Nobody quite knew how to react to that, but nervous laughter permeated the room. That dog probably ate an eighth or so, but I heard in dog mushrooms that's like seven-eighths or some shit. I bet she was tripping dog-balls.
It's been about six years since ol' Ace has dabbled in the psilocybin trade, but good times were certainly had before then. That last time was the 11/9/98 Phish show at the UIC Pavillion, a great and severely underrated show by all accounts. Except, of course, for the 45 minutes when I just completely freaked out, peaking hard in a fully enclosed arena with no air and no music to distract me, as the band was taking a break in between sets. I began to wander, first mentally while sitting two rows up off the floor. Then I had to get up and find some air, some water, something to kick me back into normal life, to remind me I'm okay, you're okay. But that backfired, as I committed Mushrooms Cardinal Sin Numero Uno: Don't look at yourself in the mirror. No sir, not ever, under no conditions.
Am I dying? Am I dead? Do I normally look this gaunt? No, fat. No, wait, holy shit my eyes are huge, look at those pupils, ha, pupils, that's funny. Is that funny? Yeah, that's funny, funny like those jokes about manboobs. Oh man, that guy just looked at me funny, I bet his name is Boris, maybe Lucy. I gotta get out of here, wait, where the fuck am I, can't I just go home at the snap of my fingers, wait, I have fingers, yeah man, check out my fingers, dude, look at this. Oh no, no, my fingers are freaking me out, bad fingers. Baddddfingeerrrrrrr. Stop singing to yourself. Get out of here already. I hope you die. Nooo, stop. I'm okay. I'm gonna die. I'm not. Wash your face. Fuck you.
So I washed my face and left the bathroom, and proceded to get pushed threw a throng of unkempt hippie folk, everyone's eyes darting side to side, everyone looking like the Reaper himself ready to claim me. Pushed and pushed and pushed, I finally made it to to the side of the tiny concourse and bumped into Fake Jerry of the Dead cover band Dark Star Orchestra (who looked a lot like the hyperlink picture attached). "Jerryman you'regreat Igottago, um, okay, kick ass whatever" I think I mumbled to him. By the stroke of luck, I ran into two friends who told me I looked like shit, and one went to get me some water. It was then that I pulled up next to the ketchup and mustard dispenser kiosk across from the concessions stand and began to vomit up everything I had in me, which wasn't much. After all, mushrooms are food poisoning. It felt better, but I still felt really high. Then I felt the hand of a stranger on my back, as a nice fella came over to say in a typical stoner hippie voice, "Happened to me in Vegas man, happened to me in Vegas." And it's happening to me now. It's all happening. Emily Rugburn.
Slowly I got back in the positive frame of mind, but halfway through the second set when I looked at Donnie and said, "If they don't play Moma Dance right now I'm going home," he knew that I was serious. Bam! Moma Dance! The band abides! Now I was determined to end this trip on a great note, and indeed I did. All systems go. From then on out, I saw it and it was good.
I never did get back on the horse. I had my fun and I tested my limits. And I walked away without a criminal record or stealing any cars or calling the cops to report my crimes. Plus, I got some great stories and the memory of that night will stay with me forever. I wouldn't trade that night for the world. Boomers anyone?