Tag: Grateful Dead (Page 4 of 25)

How much Dead do you listen to?

I listen to two shows a day, on average. During the day, I’m in the car: it’s South Florida, so everywhere is 25 minutes away from everything; either from pure distance or rain in the summer and  Canadians in the winter. Load up a show (or three or four, just in the case we have sound quality issues) onto The Precious (which is what I began to call the iPhone after I woke up one night fondling it) and make my way through, say, 11/1/77 from Cobo Arena in Detroit that features a Hall-of Fame Estimated in great gulps throughout the day.

Then another show here in Fillmore South at night, while I write these bloggings. Or avoid writing them. Or pretend to, let’s be honest: whole lotta pretending to write goes on. Trollope finished 47 novels and uncountable shorter works while keeping up a heavy correspondence load and a job at the Post Office. Three paragraphs about how much I like an obscure country-rock song and I’m spent, man.

Plus, the temptations of those twin succubi, the internet and Henry Louis Gates, Jr.*, sing to me from the cliffs like a mangled classical allusion.

“Just ONE peek at Headyversion! And you can COMMENT on SOMETHING. It will be GOOD advertising!”

Why are you capitalizing like a Marvel character from the ’60’s?

“MY ill intent, and YOUR creeping insanity!”

Makes sense.

“You know you NEED to HEAR this 86′ Frost Desolation Row! And WHILE you’re THERE, you know you might as well CHECK the COMMENTS!”

I don’t wanna check the comments.

“It says HERE that SUGAREE is WTF!”

It says that?

“It actually says there’s XTRA WTF.”

Did you capitalize that, or–

“NO, THE GUY DID!”

Then, I gotta listen to this shit, yo!

“YAY!”

YAY!

SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO? IT’S CHEROKEE NOSE-JOBS ALL AROUND IF THIS SHIT CONTINUES.

So, there are digressions to the process, is what I’m trying to say. The path of the Enthusiast is more than heavily influenced by Brownian motion.

*Avid readers and eager beavers will recall that this is what I have named the physical piece of equipment that houses The Library because it is  small, black, and remembers everything.