Might As Well Read online

  Where does this go—oops too many ushers on this level, I better run up.

  Okay, okay, where, where?

  “Ooops, sorry.”

  Here we go, okay second floor let’s see where am I? No, too many people, no dancing space. Okay, okay…

  Oops, there they go, “Hell In a Bucket.” I have to get moving. Sounds good, sounds good. Maybe I’ll sneak in a twirl. Here we go, here we go… Oops, Robin, look out for people with hotdogs. Okay, okay spin, skip, move.

  Let’s go—okay, okay here, how about here?

  Nope. Still too crowded. I’ve got to move. Sounds good though, sounds good. I hope Mara is in here—we forgot to set a spot—wait, wait, where were we yesterday?

  “Oops, excuse me. Sorry.”

  Okay, a little soda in the hair, at least it’s not beer—

  “Sorry, excuse me. I said I was sorry. Yes, it’s clean…”

  That’s right, that’s right, up one more flight. Come on girl, where are the stairs?

  Skip, twirl, get that skirt flying. There we go, I can hear my bells.

  “Oops, I’m sorry. Sorry…”

  RANDY

  (Welcome aboard, Ellis. Try to keep that rage in check or least properly direct it. Let me tell you how I envision this unit. They call us sweepers. I like to think of us as mine sweepers. There are plenty of bogeys out there ready to blow and we have to neutralize them. Do you understand?)

  “I suppose I do.”

  (Alright then, let’s head out on a run. We can leave Schultz on the crapper. Do you see those civilians over there? They are in triple violation of regulations. No unauthorized sales, no open fires and no frying of cooking oil. I want the two of you to neutralize the situation. I will observe you from this position. Go to it men!)

  (Will do.)

  “So this is what we do, walk around and tell people to stop cooking weenies?”

  (You make it sound a lot easier than it is. Plus they are not cooking weenies.)

  “So aside from being the most miserable third-rate referee in New Jersey high school history, do you think he was using the word bogey properly? I’m not so sure it means what he thinks it means. Isn’t it like unidentified aircraft or something?”

  (My intensive Top Gun training leads me to agree with you.)

  “Roger that. Do they say Roger that in Top Gun? I’ve never seen it.)

  (Seriously?)

  “Not my thing.”

  (Have you seen any Tony Scott films?)

  “I saw Legend. Tom Cruise is in that one too. Also the girl from Ferris Bueller.”

  (Mia Sara. No, that’s his brother, Ridley Scott, who directed Blade Runner. Tony Scott directed The Hunger, a vampire film with David Bowie? Tony Scott also directed Days of Thunder which is coming out this summer. More Tom Cruise, this time as a racecar driver.)

  “Which reminds me, I saw The Wraith, that ridiculous undead drag racing movie a few weeks ago on my free stolen cable, based on your recommendation. That film sucked. You owe me ninety minutes.”

  (There is no way I would recommended that you see that dreck, when there are so many better films that I know you haven’t seen.)

  “Absolutely you did. I can remember exactly what you said. You told me that The Wraith was underrated. That was enough to get me to waste an hour and a half of my life on it.”

  (No, no, you misunderstood me. When I said it was underrated, I meant it was PG-13 and it should have been R. I think that at the time when I said it, I was wondering how the producers were able to pull that off. I can promise you though, that Days of Thunder will be much more entertaining. I trust in the Scotts brand.)

  “Too much Cruising in that family for my taste. Is Paul Newman in it?”

  (No, Robert Duvall. I know what you’re thinking though, Paul Newman does like auto racing. His only film with Tom Cruise though, is The Color of Money.)

  “Now that was a waste of time. Why did we need a sequel to The Hustler?”

  (You haven’t seen Top Gun but you’ve seen The Hustler?)

  “Jackie Gleason, man, that guy’s a master.”

  (Was a master.)

  “Well he lives on through his work.”

  (Smokey Is The Bandit?)

  “Never saw that. The trailer was enough for me. That’s the first place you go, the third Smokey and The Bandit movie? The first one was a classic and that’s not something I say lightly but how about a little show called The Honeymooners?”

  (I’m talking film not television.)

  “Fucking snob.”

  (Okay, here we go. You be Maverick. I’ll be your wing man.)

  “Got it. Even without seeing the film. See, I’m not a cultural illiterate. Hey you guys… Hey you guys… I said, ‘Hey!’”

  (Hey now! What can we do you for you fine two yellow jackets this evening?)

  “Well, I suppose what you can do is put out that open fire and stop selling whatever you’re selling. You are in violation of arena policy.”

  (And what policy is that, a policy against eating?)

  (Yeah man, or a policy against not forcing people to choke down overpriced, overcooked hamburgers inside the arena?)

  “A bit of a double negative but I feel you.”

  (You feel us yellow jacket?)

  “Listen, can you just put out the fire?”

  (What fire?)

  “This one right here beneath the pot of steaming oil which is also against arena policy.”

  (What can’t you just let us be? Why is the arena so obsessed with its concession revenues?)

  “Hey, I’m just doing my job.”

  (So was Himmler.)

  “That’s where you want to go? Don’t be an asshole.”

  (Ignore Groovy George. Hey man, we’re just doing our job.)

  “He’s Groovy George? This is a job?”

  (I’m named after my dance moves not my winning personality. And yes, it’s our job until the show starts.)

  “So I imagine I’m about the millionth person to tell to you to get a real job.”

  (You don’t have to be an asshole. We’re selling three dollar falafel wraps to support our tour. Do you even know what a falafel is you bland, blonde, hulking robot?)

  “Ground chickpeas?”

  (Good guess.)

  (Our falafels are perfection in a pocket.)

  (Let us prove it you. We’ll give you a taste and if our falafels are as good as advertised, then you let us go about our business.)

  (Randy, I wouldn’t. Remember, we’re not supposed to eat anything in this lot. Everything could be laced.)

  (You think we’d dose you? No, that’s a mind crime I don’t condone. You can grab one of those right there yourself that we’ve already prepared. Trust me, I’m not dosing the clientele. That would decrease our opportunity for repeat customers.)

  (Although…)

  (No chance, Groovy George. Bad for business.)

  “Fine.”

  (Randy? You’re going off script here.)

  “Well I’m hungry. I had to deal with all that bullshit on the highway and at the gas station and with Mack and now with the crap referee. Okay, you’re on…”

  Mmmmmm.

  “Mmmmm… Not bad, not bad. Not sure about perfection in a pocket. There’s a little too much acidity in your tahini sauce.”

  (That’s bullshit.)

  “But if you give me one to go and shut down for five minutes until that old coot in the golf cart drives away, you’re fine by me.”

  (Hey, that’s bribery!)

  (Can it, Groovy George. Yellow jacket, you’ve got a deal.)

  STEVEN

  Oh yes, oh yes this is sweet­

  “Bertha!”

  Alright, time to

  “Mooooove, really had to moooooove!”
r />   Everybody loves “Bertha.” The Heads are going crazy—dancing and singing, everybody in the arena is grooving, it’s like waves and waves of colors. This is primo.

  I caught a heavy buzz from the dope and away I go.

  This is beyond description. Here I am a Head, dancing while Jerry Garcia sings “Bertha.” THE Jerry Garcia. THE “Bertha.”

  Aww and check out Shannon, look at her, she’s smiling and dancing. It’s great, it’s so great. She is just so happy. Happy and dancing like everyone here at the show.

  I even know most of the words so I can sing some of the chorus along with Jerry and it’s like I belong here. Me and all these people who have never met before and maybe never will be in the same place again—no no, we’ll go to shows together. Okay maybe not all of us here tonight but most of us. We’ll go to shows together but we probably won’t talk to each other. But here we are, singing along with Jerry. We’re unified. It’s inspiring and that’s what being a Head is all about.

  Aww, and look at Shannon, kind of spinning with her arms moving up and down. She is happiness personified. Right there dancing next to me at the show is Happiness.

  And I can dance along with her. It’s breathtaking.

  BAGEL BOB

  (Hey, Bob, I’ll take a Stella Blueberry, light on the cream cheese.)

  “Alas, Bob is bagel-less.”

  (Bagel Bob without bagels? That’s impossible. If you don’t have any bagels, how can you be Bagel Bob?)

  “The Lone Ranger is not always alone. At times he is in the company of other rangers. Yet he retains his title.”

  (Good point but where are your bagels?)

  “Bob left them in his friend Michael’s recreational vehicle. Bob intends to return there shortly to begin some recreational cribbage.”

  (Recreational cribbage?)

  “Bob’s days as a cribbage professional are long past. Although Bob would not rule out a Pro-Am event with a suitable partner. Despite an otherwise tranquil nature, Bob acknowledges a predilection for the Muggins variation.”

  (And you intend to play cribbage after what exacly? I mean what’s this? A bunch of people dressed in rags dancing around a milk crate engulfed in flames? Tell me, Bob, what’s their story?)

  “Their story?”

  (Why are they doing this?)

  “Because they are Jevushuans.”

  (But what does that mean?)

  “Bob does not know. He is not a Jevushuan.”

  (But you must have seen them before on tour.)

  “Bob has.”

  (So then tell me, why do they dance around like that?)

  “Lunar worship as Bob understands it.”

  (Okay, I dig that. But these guys follow around the Dead, correct?)

  “Bob has observed the Jevushuans in the vicinity of other Grateful Dead performances, yes.”

  (Come to think of it, I think I’ve seen them a few times myself but only out here in the lot. Do they ever go into shows?)

  “Bob has never observed them do so. Perhaps it is against their dogma to initiate eye contact with the Grateful Dead.”

  (Can that even be possible?)

  “Possible? Why do you invoke such normative terminology within the lingua franca that is the music of the Grateful Dead? Cast your eyes in a three hundred and sixty–degree radius. Does any of this seem bound by the artificial constraints of vocabulary and grammar that you privilege by giving meaning to the word possible?”

  (Other than the fact that I don’t have a ticket?)

  “Hail fellow well met.”

  (But seriously, if they have no interest in walking through the doors of the arena then why are they here?)

  “Metaphysician heal thyself. Why are you here?”

  (I asked first.)

  “But Bob asked taller.”

  (What?)

  “What’s on second. “

  (Who?)

  “First base… Okay, why is Bob here? Was not Bob univocal with his lingua franca reference? Well then perhaps this is a question that Bob himself is unable to answer to his satisfaction. Perhaps Bob contemplates this interrogative with an increased urgency each day while outside forces assail his unflagging optimism and set ablaze his banderole—they seek to burn Bob’s freak flag—an unconscionable act if admittedly a Constitutionally unviolative one. Bob fears for the health of his habitat.”

  (Awww, Bob come on, now you’re bringing me down. I know why you’re here. You’re here because you belong here. You’re here because people need you. Just like people need bagels. I’ve been to like fifteen shows over the past couple years and I’ve bought a bagel from you at every one. You’ve given me nourishment and stability and a smiling face. That’s why you’re here.)

  “Does Bob know you?”

  (We’ve never been formally introduced. My name’s Kevin.)

  “Welcome, Kevin, you speak of Bob kindly. But let Bob ask you, you talk of Jevushuans and you inquire as to the nature of their presence. Once again let Bob ask, why are you here?”

  (Because there’s nowhere else.)

  “Indeed.”

  TAPER TED

  Jerry lobs back a “Bertha.” No, this is one of these late ’80s, early ’90s retro “Berthas.” So it’s not a lob, it’s more of a slam. Almost back to the ping-pong days of the early ’70s when Bobby would rip through one and then Jerry would fire back. Now they’re slower, we all are. So it’s more like they’re on a tennis court hitting lobs back and forth. Except for an occasional high hard one like the “Bertha.”

  Rez really enjoys these latter-day “Berthas.” Not me, I dig the late ’70s versions, the slow, bubbling “Berthas.” Like May 9, 1977 in Buffalo, which always gets overshadowed by the previous night’s sick Barton Hall show on my home turf in Ithaca. What a year that was, even aside from the music, an admission that would likely blow my little brother’s mind. Rez and I had just found each other and recognized the role that the Dead would play in our lives. We’ve been to most of our shows together—286 for me, while she flat-out refuses to count because she says her Dead experience is unquantifiable. Now there’s some weird irony, coming from a tax attorney.

  And the cream of ‘77 awaits me on those Betty Boards. The DATs should arrive next week, if they’re not already sitting at the post office. The conversation about which show to put on first will be quite delicious in its own right. I can’t wait until Rez and I sit down, paw through those tapes and make a decision.

  Of course I have another decision to make before we get there, which was altogether unexpected and where I suppose my thoughts have been headed. Blankmail—which might be amusing if it weren’t so peverse. What am I to do about that? On one hand I’m all for releasing the shows to the community but it’s really not my call. I’m just stoked that I was selected to be part of the tape tree. Only two dozen of us made the cut. More shows to come too if Reggie has it right. Of course it could go all down the drain if this guy Chuck blows the whistle.

  Maybe I should talk to Reg about it. He’s in his classic spot though, landlocked in the middle of the section, I’ll never make it there.

  The person I really need to speak with is Rez.

  Where is she, off talking to a client?

  I remember that Hampton ’88 run, right after they made her partner when she was out in the hall on the phone and missed two of the breakouts. That “Ballad of a Thin Man” hurt. Bobby’s her guy.

  STELLA BLUE

  “Why do you like the Grateful Dead, Mommy?”

  (I don’t like the Grateful Dead, Stella.)

  “I don’t like the Grateful Dead either.”

  (You don’t?)

  “No, I love the Grateful Dead!”

  (Ohhh, Stella, that’s what I was going to say!)

  “I know you were, Mommy.”

  (You wanna know why
I like the Grateful Dead?)

  “Okay, Aunt Jenny, but don’t say you love the Grateful Dead.”

  (Party pooper.)

  “Aunt Jennneee!”

  (What?)

  “No poop talk.”

  (Oh, sorry. But do you really wanna know why I like the Grateful Dead?)

  “Okay.”

  (Their sweet dance moves. I think they inspired New Kids on The Block.)

  “Who?”

  (I like you more and more every day. Do you see Jerry though, how he rocks back and forth while he’s playing?)

  “No…”

  (Well if you look a bit closer-you know, you may be right. But remember, during the first song Bobby was jumping around.)

  “He looked like he was trying to get an invisible hat off his head.”

  (He did look like he was trying to get an invisible hat off his head.)

  “Aunt Jenny you wanna know why I love the Grateful Dead?”

  (Sure, Stella, why do you love the Grateful Dead?)

  “Because I love cows.”

  (You do?)

  “Just like Jerry.”

  (Jerry’s a cow? I’m not sure if he’d appreciate—)

  “Aunt Jennnneeee! No, Jerry sings to the cows because he loves them—‘I really had to mooooooo!’”

  RANDY

  (Davis is not going to appreciate that.)

  “Well I don’t appreciate his douchebaggery. He flagged me three times for blocking below the waist. A, I was still in the free blocking zone and Two, even if I wasn’t, it’s still not blocking below the waist if the other guy is not on his feet because I already knocked him in the air and he was on his way to the ground. I was just carving room for the tailback. My level of respect for this guy falls somewhere just below no respect.”

  (Well coach is not going to appreciate that—the letting the falafel guys remain in business part, not the opening holes for your backfield part.)

  “Fuck him if he can’t take a joke. I’m already fired anyhow. Plus that falafel was nearly as good as he said it was, I might go back for thirds. I’m a growing boy. But first I have to call a couple guys from my high school and let them know I found that hack referee from our championship game and told him what we think of him.”