Jerry Garcia died eleven years ago today. Feeling sorry for my adult self and wondering why I would never feel as good as I did as a dumb kid when I thought the Grateful Dead would save my pathetic soul, I went to San Francisco that day hoping to make a pilgrimage with fellow heads. But as it turned out, I got there a day early. Hasty shrines to Garcia had been erected around the city, but no one was really paying attention to them yet - it was just a bunch of Haight stragglers and such.
So I took the next plane back to L.A. The big wake/celebration took place the next day. I had missed out on everything. It seemed a fitting metaphor - It was way too late to think I could "connect" or "vibe' in some deep way with fellow travelers. It was all absurd anyway; that day felt more contrived than it should have, if I remember the news reports correctly.
Still like the Dead though. Right now I'm deep into the mirror ball disco period. That's the problem with fans - they like even the dog poop.
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Hey, don't knock disco. I recently revisited my Saturday Night Fever vinyl, and must say, it really holds up. Okay, well, you could skip the 5th of Beethoven and stick with the Bee Gee's tunes... IW
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