Sometimes you wake up with tear-stained cheeks and really do wish that you were an Aborigine. Who lives in the "dream" side of life. Or that, perhaps, you could just wish hard enough to make that awesome dream come true.
i was at a grateful dead concert. somehow, someway, by some miracle,
jerry garcia had come back from the dead. and they were having a
reunion concert. and at first i was telling dearsweetdave that there
was no way i was going. no thank you. i was certain the whole thing was
a big fat hoax that was being perpetuated by the leftover band members
to line their coffers with more dollars from those of us who are
desperate for just one.more.show.
but then, then...i received a golden ticket in my mail box. just like
charlie bucket. it had skeletons dancing on it. and it had this letter
that told me i was "a chosen one". so off i went. but when i arrived at
the oakland coliseum i could tell right away that something was a bit
amiss. that things were not what they seemed. and all these people were
jammed onto the floor. pushing and shoving. i ran into greg and at
first i didn't recognize him...but then he said something like, "sure,
just walk right by..." and then we chatted for a bit about how we would
naturally run into each other at this show of all shows, but that we
honestly had nothing to say to one another. so sad. and then i ran into steve.
ah, steve. who i spent a lot of time kissing! god, i miss that boy.
still the crowd. good grief, the crowd. it was a mob scene. and i was
trying to work my way to my "spot" up front where i always stand right
in front of jerry. but these people were all so RUDE. so not the
typical deadhead crowd at all. and i kept saying, "who are you people
and what are you doing here??"
so then the music finally started and i'm still about half-way back
from the stage and i can tell, right away, that this is NOT the
grateful dead. no tell-tale tingle up my spine. it's imposters! posers! fakes! and i'm thinking to
myself that they've done this on purpose. this "concert" is for all the
pseudo deadheads. har! because, as we know, i've had an issue with
pseudo deadheads for as long as we can remember. not that i'm not the
first to open my arms and heart and welcome anyone who wants to truly
embrace the dead and their music and their lifestyle into the fold, but
it made me a bit nutso when "in the dark" became a billboard hit and
suddenly our concerts and parking lots were flooded with these drunken
frat boys (and there's nothing wrong with frat boys) who only knew ONE
SONG and were really just looking to score drugs and ogle the naked
hippie girls. i wanted to box them up and send them home!
so when i realized that this was a "fake" band, i also realized that if
jerry really were alive he wouldn't be playing at the oakland coliseum.
no way, no how. he'd be playing at the greek. small and intimate. up close and personal. rock down the house wonderful! so i hitched a ride over there, walked
through my very favorite grove of trees and could hear the notes of
"feel like a stranger" drifting their way towards me.
and i just started to cry. then sob. because it was them. and they were truly playing. and i was finally home.
if you look very closely at that photo you can see me in front of jerry! at that show, actually, i handed phil lesh a bag of clyde's cookies to share with the band!
