Lose some weight? Lay off the sauce? Stop going to so many damn shows? Maybe it’s time to straighten up and get a real job, like tree climbing or dog walking. Increased responsibility and adult behavior is the formula for 2022. It’s New Years and time to make some important changes. Remember the wise words of Compost as he said, “Go to more shows. Meet more people. Drink more water.” That math checks out and you’ve found your way back to the Florida Home Invasion Tour. Hurry up in there. I’m gonna miss the bus. Welcome to No Resolutions Festival: ¡Eres Perfecto!

It had been a strange season to be sure but Cleophus and Lucy were content traveling around Florida while it snowed sideways everywhere else. Anyone who had been at the Billy Strings four night stint in Atlanta a few weeks earlier still had the bruises to show for it. Lucy appeared to have had a stroke and still took extra wide turns anytime she drove. Karate man bleed on the inside. Or you bleed right in the bed and wreck those new sheets. Where did the blood come from? Who knows? Those shows had left an indelible mark that would not soon be understood. Every once in a while Cleophus would remember glancing images and mental feeder bands of those nights and a curious look would come across his face, as if he was really trying to understand Stephen Hawking’s, A Brief History of the Universe. Close to the edge, he was making plans to completely check out and go on Billy tour with the Birdman. Sorry, not sorry. It just made good sense.

Lucy had been mostly deaf since Hulaween. Somewhere in the pallet village of the Cheese Love camp some crusty dusty dumped a bag of hot popcorn on her head, causing a sizzling kernel to bury itself deep in the canal and hide away like a gopher tortoise. Recently, her photographer located it with a microscope style coke spoon with both camera and light and scooped it out right before the festival. What had been loosely characterized as fibromyalgia had been revealed as a legitimate problem and finally in life’s rear view mirror. Collaborative music would once again be an option and Ellie Ray’s RV Resort was always been a great place to find a jam. (ed. note–hmmm. coke spoon with a light?)

Keep Practicing Randy. Where is the Brie?

On the way up from Oldsmar, Roadblock Randy cautioned the party against a portage over the St. John’s or entering any foreign domiciles. Lucy shot back, “Don’t be ridiculous! You are an este hvtke. A white man and a bastard! What kind of animal would break into someone’s house without permission?” In the words of Four Day Old Brie, from here on out it would need to involve “enthusiastic consent”. She was right when she said, “Just stay in your lane. And please get that penis off my shoulder.”

New Years shows had been shutting down all over and it was creating absolute pandemonium. Billy cancelled Michigan, WSMFP cancelled Atlanta and Shannon’s New Year’s outfit was more suited to the cooler temperatures of central Georgia. It was happening everywhere. Thank ye gods Goose and PANDA held it together for the mountain folk. The perfect winter weather at No Resolutions reminded Cleophus why Florida always owned the festival season from spring to fall. The balmy temperatures were absolutely perfect and a marathon from the ice canyons and frozen chickens of New Castle. As the walkabout continued Lucy and Cleophus were still homeless but the guitars were safe and temperature controlled. Lucy knew Florida to be full of friends, family and all kinds of unexpected crannies that a Chihuahua could fall into. And again, the weather was stupid perfect. They’d found that homeless guy in Atlanta a few weeks earlier and suggested he begin walking south immediately. Sorry baby, Waffle House said you got to go where the climate suits your clothes.

Cleophus had been trying to get a job as a male surrogate but at present they were only hiring females. “That’s crap”, he spewed. “Tony Randall had kids till he was seventy. Or it was somebody like that. I’m not going back to donating plasma.” He volunteered to drive his recreation vehicle to the festival just so Big Betty would have somewhere to sleep. She’d been spending too many nights outside and at rest stops recently and it was starting to take a toll. She was covered in poison ivy, chigga bites and was starting to look like she had scoliosis. She was also wearing a bevy of patches all over her back and thighs. There was the hangover patch on the ribcage, the nicotine patch on the back of the shoulder and the suboxone patch right above the hip. She was starting to look like a postage stamp from Istanbul.

They were back at Ellie Ray’s RV Resort on the banks of the Santa Fe River for the first time since Fool’s Engagement which had proven to be an insane jumble of sick brutal fun. Cleophus and Lucy ventured out Wednesday night ending up smack dab in the middle of the Doom Flamingo, a six-headed synthwave beast with poolside lounge-vibes with eerie darksynth soundscapes. Excuse me? Have you seen my face? It’s gone missing.

At some point later they ended up at the Future Joy stage, (half camper, half stage) for more pounding deliciousness. The last time they’d seen that machine was Hulaween and once again, it rocked the foundation of all that’s sacred. Friends were made and funk was felt. Lucy found her way into the pocket and once again danced until she fell over like a bag of flour. At some point she mentally ‘checked out” and ended up the next morning covered in questions and Chihuahua.

Cleophus remarked how the voice of Jessica Jones, turned him into “a little boy”. Everywhere he went she was there adding her delicious, gritty pipes to the thing. He muttered “Jessica Joy” while twirling violently using Spanish moss as his Florida prison wig. Morphius lost Lucy at the Guavatron show and had to enlist Penny and Katie into hunting him down in the back of the Steal Your Trash trailer where he lay covered in a dirty tarp and spooning with an empty propane tank.

Drugs commonly administered transdermally include:

Blacksheep Troubador and tough choices.

Cleophus ended up enjoying the country stylings of Blacksheep Troubadour at the Get Laws’t stage  before Lucy showed up with a half bottle of Jägermeister, still complaining about her stolen golf cart. They finished the bottle on the floating stage from where they could still hear that “siren from Georgia” singing harmony with Taylor Cook. Later Shanon showed up still wearing her white wig. “I’m supposed to be wearing this in Atlanta!”

Cleophus had gotten hold of some fluff (family of course) and by the end of the Ghost Note set made friends with a cat that had its ear ripped off by an alligator. Curious stories from the natural world. He followed “gator bait” back to the floating dock and after a futile search for the guilty reptile, ended up tripping into the cold Santa Fe, cat in tow. His face was subsequently slashed by cat talons and he stumbled to the beach. He was picked up by Busstop and the Steal Your Trash thugs who, albeit drunk on a recently groundscored half case of warm Modelos were still able to sing Elizabeth Cotton in four-part harmony. The next day someone would donate a coffee maker and a quilt to the cause. Hard to find good groundscores when you’re camping with professionals.

Cleophus and Mario found each other after the Fuzzy Britches set and ended up at the inside bar playing pool and drinking buttery nipples. While showing off his Color of Money pool cue spinning techniques Mario cracked the cigarette machine and gutted his hand trying to fish out a pack of Newports. He still had confetti in his long hair and it sprinkled over the pool table. They both woke up the next morning in the bubbling jacuzzi next to a cookie sheet of melted margaritas and a floating bottle of Southern Comfort.

Baitbucket’s phone ended up underneath the Chateau sometime Wednesday night and was therefore unable to take blurry photographs all weekend. Par for the course. Thanks to Laurie Dyer for contributing most of the viable pics. The check is in the mail.

Lucy could usually be found at the Black Sheep Circus compound visiting friends and enjoying artists like Katelyn Buchan from FlowKate OfMind and Danielle Quina at Mooxie Art. So good. Visit their social media sites on Facebook and Instagram.

Some complained about the lineup changes. Big Something was playing with Dr. Bacon. Some complained about the little bees that liked to land on your shoulder and say, “How ya doin?” But most left  happy, satisfied with the epic New Year’s weekend that had included as many new friends as existing ones. Sometimes good things happen to weird people. Thanks to everyone who helped to make it happen and hope to be back for Fool’s Two; The Return of the Beast. Especially Clint and the rest of the security force. Thanks for making it chill AF and safe and fun for everyone. That’s how you do it.

Lucy, Cleophus and the rest of the scattered wranglers were to continue down the Florida spring festival season road en route to Virginia Key and Grassroots. Neither had ever been to a festival there but had laid that very beach only a few weeks earlier, as they were in Miami working security at the Vibra Urbana reggaeton festival. You can’t make this shit up. Well, you can but don’t always have to. Believe what you want.

A music festival on the beach you say? Camping on the beach you say? Fascinating…

When the snow finally melts on the north side of the mountain, look south Old Dominion for a huge cloud of dust. It will be the wranglers driving the last great herd of wild Chihuahuas to the Roanoke Valley. They are coming to get into a squirrel death roll with the mountain festival season. We are excited to be covering Grassroots, Spring Reunion, Mountain Music Festival and FloydFest. There plenty of fun to be had. More to come. Get your rest now.

Namaste y’all.

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