What started out as a joke has exploded—fans are snapping up the packages. All 25 $250 lunches sold out in less than 48 hours; 300 phone calls have been made to people as far away as Australia and the U.K.; Freese has had dinner at the Sizzler five times, done the Spearmint Rhino thing twice and given a tour of Disneyland once. The $20,000 package is long gone. Only the $10,000 and $75,000 packages remain untouched. Amdurer has even been temporarily recruited as Freese’s assistant, helping to field e-mails, phone calls and packages.

“It’s really crazy,” Freese says. “It’s going into this realm of performance art and jackassery. I do have that kind of weird, kooky, kitschy part of my personality, and it’s just the way I’ve always been. But even for me, I’m pinching myself—I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“I’m driving back to the Cheesecake Factory for the 11th time this month, and I’m turning down other work because, yeah, I’ve got a guy flying down from Canada. People will call me for a session, but I can’t show up because I’ve got to give someone a tour of the Queen Mary and a drum lesson, and then they gotta come over and pick stuff out of my closet.”

Lunch aboard the Queen Mary: Vegetarian pasta for Freese, chicken sandwich for Butler
Susan Sabo
Lunch aboard the Queen Mary: Vegetarian pasta for Freese, chicken sandwich for Butler
Freese hands off a signed drum head, drumsticks, cymbals and a CD
Susan Sabo
Freese hands off a signed drum head, drumsticks, cymbals and a CD

Though Freese says he’s only made a bit of money on top of what it cost to release Since 1972, which Freese estimates at roughly $25,000, the sheer amount of recognition is the real payoff. Within the past few months, Freese’s name and story have appeared in news outlets across the country, from NPR to Wired, spreading the word way beyond the crazed NIN, Tool and Devo fans.

“I don’t want it to be, ‘Yeah, you can come and kick Josh Freese in the balls for $10,000,’” he explains. “I put these things together, they’re selling, we’ll have a couple of drinks at this bar, we’ll get haircuts or take a tour of Disneyland, and that’s it.

“I’m a clown, not a complete whore.”

*    *    *

Paul James, 41, and his girlfriend, Charlene Mulharsky, 36, of Huntington Beach, wait with Freese in Float Lab Technologies, located in a nondescript, unlabeled storefront right on the world-famous Venice Boardwalk, with its tourists, balmy weather, and sketchy dudes handing out their hip-hop demos next to smoking paraphernalia shops and pop-up tents selling two sunglasses for $10.

James, who has a shaved head, is wearing a green plaid top and Jack Purcells; Mulharsky, a L.A.M.B. tote bag, pink tee and cargos. At Mitsubishi Motors, where they both work, they’re known as the “wild-and-crazy accountants.”

After hearing about the fan packages on KROQ-FM, James and Mulharsky quickly settled on the $500 listing—the Sizzler dinner sealed the deal.

“This whole thing is awesome,” James says to Freese when he arrives. “Like, I mean, I was really fired up for the Sizzler. When I heard you on the radio talking about the Sizzler, I was like, ‘I’m dooooown; I am so down.’”

Mulharsky has opted out of the float, but after a quick read-over of the one-page flotation-chamber guidelines presented by the owner, known only as “Crash,” James and Freese strip down (yes, totally nude) and climb into their respective tanks—which look like heated, glorified, darkened meat freezers—and disappear. (A glowing recommendation from Rick Rubin some five years ago had turned Freese on to the chambers.)

Some 40 minutes later, after the two emerge, Freese asks how James’ float was.

“I was kind of scared at first,” ?James admits.

“You know what the problem is?” Freese asks. “If I’m laying down there for a long time, the whole time, I’m like, ‘What am I doing here?’ I’ve got, like, 3,000 messages, man. I’ve got to go to lunch and a session; I can’t just sit here!”

“I’m not much of a relaxing kind of person,” James replies.

“Me, neither,” Freese says. He pauses. “What are we doing here? Let’s get out of here!”

After weaving through Friday-afternoon Los Angeles traffic, the group arrives at a Sizzler on Wilshire Boulevard. The three pose briefly for a photo-op just inside the entrance in front of a sign advertising new dinner specials.

“I hadn’t been here in a while until recently, but I do enjoy it,” Freese says while in line at the cash register. “You know, I love airplane food.” He pauses for a chorus of ewwwwwwws and wrinkled noses. “I’m not being funny; I’m not being ironic. It reminds me of being 12 years old and putting food in the microwave.”

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