Sunday, July 29, 2012

Orlando Nights: or why you should be happy as f*ck

It starts with a bottle of Jack Daniels Green Label. Why the change of color? We haven't a clue.
But it's different. So is starting the night in the back of Mod Sun's tour bus with said bottle, Mike, Dan, and a member of one of the BIGGEST bands on tour.
"I have to tell you," he says to Mod.  "There are two people I've met in this world that when they walk into a room, everyone around them is instantly happier. The first was Snoop. And now -- you."
We all chuckle at the sentiment, but it's true. Mod Sun, the self-described "hippy-hoppy" musician from Minnesota might as well be the Tony Robbins of the Warped Tour.
This guy starts pouring his heart out to Mod.  "It's tough when you have to sacrifice so much. I don't get to see my kids grow up. I don't have a home. And I'm never really happy."
Mod contests: "Are you kidding me? I've known you for ten years and you're one of the happiest guys I know."
"It's a facade. So, please, can I just ask: how are you happy all the time?"
"All I know," starts Mod, "is that what you put out into the universe, the universe will return to you. If you come out to your car and there's a parking ticket, and you say, 'God! I hate parking tickets. If I ever get another parking ticket I'll...' But right there. You just said 'parking ticket' two times." He waves his fingers for emphasis. "Two times. And I guarantee you will get another parking ticket. But if you wake up thinking, 'today is the best day ever', it will be. Especially you. You wake up in a different city every day. Nobody really knows you. You can be whoever you want to be."
We toast to happiness. First shot.
Mike's turn.
"When I was 13, I had cancer. But I had a really good group of friends that didn't make me think about it. They just treated me like nothing was wrong. All the same jokes, all the same crap. So I never felt like there was anything wrong with me.
"When I was in the hospital, the doctors would always come in to tell me my 'progress' but every time I'd say, 'Nope. Don't want to know. You can tell my parents, but I'm doing better.'
"They gave me a small percentage of survival initially, but here I am, eleven years later. I was always telling myself, 'I'm doing better.' And even if you don't believe it at first, you just have to think it. And keep thinking it. Until you do believe it."
Second toast -- to Mike.  "Fuck Cancer," the refrain.
There's a third and fourth and even fifth shot as everyone offers a bit of Buddhist-momentariness into the conversation. The last toast is bequeathed to me. I revert to my Russian:
"For friendship."
By ten o'clock the bottle's nearly finished. Bus call isn't until three. So we head down to the barbecue and hand the bottle off to random people we see along the way. We run into Sasha. Andrew. T-Mills's bouncer. A few blondes and fake-reds.
By the time we reach the barbecue -- the bottle's all the way finished.
Time for hamburgers, hot-dogs. But seeing how we're all "Happy as F*ck" (Mod Suns's aptly named hit single) this doesn't appease our appetite.
So after a quick phone call, we pile into four taxis. Destination: downtown Orlando.
A quick slice of pizza and a beer.
Toast: to downtown Orlando.
A few minutes later, Mike stops to play drums on the sidewalk alongside a guy using buckets as bongos. A small crowd gathers. Tips abound.
We then stumble across a bustling and bumping scene with four bars and an open courtyard connecting them. Price of admission: only $5.
Wristbands. Somehow Sasha gets in with my Russian ID. (In the spontaneous rush, he'd forgotten his wallet back on the bus.)
Then shoot shots to "Pour Some Sugar on Me." Dance and scream along with Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer." The rest of the bar watches dumbfounded. 'Who are these animals' they must be wondering, 'in the leopard-spotted shoes and cut-off shirts and fedora? And why  are they all so fucking happy?'
From there the night fades from memory.
Tequila.
More tequila.
Dan throws up -- in Eric's bunk.
Something about a fire extinguisher.
Then three rolls around and our bus rolls out in line with a dozen others. Next stop: West Palm Beach.

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