Might As Well Read online

  “Pie, bro. Pie.”

  (Yeah, sure. Then we’ll do it. Especially after you sold us the beer. I probably shouldn’t tell you this but we’re not twenty-one yet.)

  “That’s cool brother, neither am I. So would you get it?”

  (Sure, come on Brad.)

  (We’ll be right back.)

  Crazy, I might not jones tonight.

  Now that’s why you gotta be kind to the custies!

  Still need to make a trade though. Could go either way. Might as well start working it.

  “Tomorrow for tonight. Tomorrow for tonight. I’ll trade you tomorrow night’s ticket for tonight. Nice cold tasty imports. Ice cold domestics a buck, imports a deuce. Kind Bud-weiser, kind Beck’s.”

  There they are!

  (Alright, so how should we do this?)

  “Twenty-five. Does that sound fair?”

  (Wait.)

  Uh-oh.

  “What?”

  (The ticket says it costs twenty-one-fifty. We don’t want to rip you off.)

  “No, there’s a service charge of three dollars and seventy-five cents. A little steep but that’s what is. You got to add that to the price of the ticket. See? So it really costs… It costs a little more than twenty-five. I’ll give you twenty-six.”

  (Okay, cool.)

  “So twenty-six then?”

  (Sure.)

  Okay now I just have to find—oh shit shit shit. Here are my singles but where’s my cheddar?

  What am I—oh, wrong pocket.

  “Here you go. And might I interest each of you, my kind brothers, in a complimentary beverage? Kind Beck’s? Kind Bud?”

  (Yeah sure that’s great.)

  (Yeah, cool. Thanks.)

  “Have a good show the two of you.”

  (Thanks, brother, same to you.)

  Those kids were alright. Sort of like me a few years ago. Of course I was younger than they are when I was them.

  STEVEN

  (Baaaahhh!)

  (Moooo!)

  (Baaaahhh!)

  (Moooo!)

  (Come on, let us in! Speed things up!)

  (We’re missing the shooooow.)

  (Baaaahhh!)

  “That’s pretty funny. Did you guys hear that?”

  (The dudes making animals noises? Yeah, I heard it. I’ve heard it before. What time you got?)

  “Hold on, it’s in my pocket…seven-fifteen.”

  (We could miss the first song.)

  “That would suck.”

  (No, you’ll be in by then. Once you’re up here in the middle of the cattle call it goes quickly. Unlike say The Civic last spring when everyone was cutting.)

  (Yeah, I was there.)

  Owwww!

  “Hey, don’t push.”

  (Cut it out! Quit pushing!)

  Awww, this is bogus. It’s stuff like this that wrecks it for everyone, ruins everybody’s vibes. I mean we all want the same thing—owww, shit.

  “Come on, cut it out!”

  Why do I need to get elbowed in the ribs while I’m trying to make my way into the show? This sucks. I’ve been to sold out Hartford Whalers games and I walked right in. This is out of control, it’s a total mob scene. I wonder if it’s like this everywhere the Dead play. Or is it just that they don’t like Deadheads in New Jersey? It’s definitely possible that they’re trying to ruin the scene by letting us in extra slowly so that we’ll push and stuff. And I bet some people can’t help pushing, like if they have to piss or something. Shit, I can barely move my arms and I’m afraid I’m going to poke somebody with the Burnster’s kabob thing. I’d dump it but I’m starving. Shit I hope he doesn’t go to Emily’s tonight.

  Okay, Steve-o, chill. Just mellow. You’re here on acid at your first show. Everything will be fine. Take another bite of the kabob. Uhhhh, it is sort of greasy and gross but at least it’s almost gone. So just finish it up and then you won’t be so hungry and you can go in and find Shannon and those guys and it’ll be a great show and you’ll know most of the songs and the acid will do what it’s supposed to do without doing too much and you’ll get the cool Jetsons T-shirt afterwards and you’ll go back to Emily’s and you’ll finally hook up with Shannon. And all that seems like a lot but it’s not, not here. Not at a Dead show.

  (Baaaahhh! Baaaahhh!)

  (Hey, who’s poking me?)

  “Sorry, that was my kabob-thing.”

  (Well shit, man get rid of it.)

  “Okay, okay. I’m finishing it up now. See, see…”

  (Okay.)

  (Baaahhhhhh!)

  (Mooooo! Mooooo!)

  (Baaaahhhh!)

  (Let us in!)

  (Come on, let us in! We can’t breathe out here!)

  (Mooooohhhh!)

  (IF YOU MUST TREAT US LIKE ANIMALS, AT LEAST TREAT US WITH THE BASIC RESPECT THAT WE GIVE TO ANIMALS!)

  (Yeah, right. Slice our flanks into tube steaks and grind our ears into dog food.)

  STELLA BLUE

  “Mommy, I’m getting smushed.”

  (I know honey. I’m sorry, Stell Belle. Please everyone, please give us a little room. There’s a child here.)

  (Well maybe there shouldn’t be.)

  (Who said that?)

  (Calm down, Jenny.)

  (No, who said that?)

  (Let it rest.)

  “Mommeeee!”

  (Okay, Stella. Want to sit on Mommy’s shoulders?)

  “Uh-huh.”

  (This is unreal. We should have gone in earlier.)

  (We’re okay now. You’re okay, right, Stella?)

  “It’s pretty up here. Lots of colors.”

  (Can you see how close we are to the door?)

  “This close.”

  (That close, huh?)

  (You know it wouldn’t have made any difference if the three of you had gotten here earlier. They only opened the doors a few minutes ago.)

  (No shit.)

  “Aunt Jenny!”

  (Sorry, Stella… That’s crazy.)

  (Yeah and it was like this last night too. For some reason they won’t open up the doors until quarter of seven and then there’s this crush to get in. I missed the ‘Half-Step’ and the ‘Minglewood.’)

  (You hear that, Alison?)

  (Yeah. How you doing up there, Stella?)

  “Great. I can see everything.”

  (I don’t know, Jen… It’s times like this that I wonder if Stella needs to be in here smashed together with all these people.)

  (Hey, for all we know this is the way that people will be living when she grows up. She’s fine. You’re fine up there, right, Stella?)

  “I’m fine up here, Aunt Jenny.”

  (Besides, it’s important for her to get out and see everyone. It’s an important part of life.)

  (I know. It’s just that she’s this little kid and sometimes I have this overwhelming desire to smother her up and keep her away from everything.)

  (Well that would be a mistake. That’s what our parents did to us. That’s why we’re so fucked up.)

  “Aunt Jenny!”

  (Sorry, Stella… But really Al, you got to let the kid see and touch and taste and smell—)

  (She’s right, let the kid smell.)

  (Yeah, let the kid smell.)

  (Yeah, let her smell.)

  (Let her smell!)

  (Let her smell!)

  (Let her smell!)

  TAPER TED

  (Hey, Teddy, can you come back here for a minute?)

  “Just a second. Actually, Mitch, you can help me from there, what do you think?”

  (A hair to the left for the proper Phil quotient. He’s going to be pumping out the Biscuits tonight, I can feel it.)

  “Thanks. Hold on, I�
�ll be there in a moment. Tommy, can you stay here and watch my stuff? And please don’t touch anything.”

  (Yes, Mr. Wilson.)

  “Excuse me…excuse me… Oops, sorry, Kev, just passing through. I have to talk to this guy. Okay, Mitch what’s up?”

  (I’m almost embarrassed to ask but do you have any analog blanks on you? A pair of nineties or ideally one hundreds?)

  “Not with me. I’ve been fully digital without analog backup for nearly five years now. Come to think of it, about as long as you have. So what’s up?”

  (In a few minutes I’m gonna be running on fumes.)

  “How so?”

  (I was having some problems with my deck. At first I thought it was the preamp but now I’m not sure. So I brought it to Audio Jack for a tune-up but with everyone in town for the shows, the only thing he had lying around that he could spare was this analog D-6. I was feeling sentimental so I went with it. I haven’t run one of these in a couple years. The only problem will be the flip, it’s like going back to the stone age.)

  “Barney Rubble never went digital. So what’s the problem? “

  (As you pointed out, it’s been a while since I’ve been analog. So I came in here slightly strung out, carrying my pack full of sixty meter digital blanks but no good old fashioned analog cassettes. I’ll trade you blank for blank, sixty meter DAT for a Maxell XLII-S or TDK SA-X.)

  “Sorry, while I do have my fair share of plastic ribbon-filled rectangles I just don’t think I have anything that suits you. Do you have any analog blanks at all?”

  (This kid over here who’s running a D-3 said I could tape over his masters from last night if I promise to replace them pronto. Apparently, he was no fan of the ‘Uncle John’s’ > ‘Playing.’ Or at least not fan enough. Personally I think Brent was on point for both of those and really pulled it out for them. And as you know that’s something I’ll rarely say.)

  “Give the new guy a break.”

  (Yeah, it’s only been ten years.)

  “Plus, you don’t want a retread.”

  (That’s what I told him, which is why I called you over. My other option is I can use the clean portion of his first set master from last night until something else comes up. At least that way I can float him a signal.)

  “Why doesn’t he just patch out of someone else?”

  (He’s a bit on the timid side, you know how it can be down here. He’s happy that he’s found someone who isn’t giving him shit about coming in with a tapers’ ticket but without his own mics. Plus this is his seat, he’s reluctant to move and attempt to make a new cranky taper buddy due to his lack of microphones and there’s not much free space anyhow. Besides, Neumanns are Neumanns.)

  “And he doesn’t have another blank?”

  (Just one for the second set. Kids today, they just don’t come prepared.)

  “But he knows that he’s going to lose his signal when your tape runs out.”

  (I’m not sure he’s thought that through but I promise it won’t happen. If worse comes to worse I’ll do a mercy kill and hit pause just before then so that he doesn’t lose his signal.)

  “Why don’t you just give him first position?”

  (I don’t know if he can handle the Neumanns with his D-3.)

  “Well then why not run the D-6 with his blanks for him.”

  (Would you like me to cut his meat for him too? I’m the guy with the microphones. I’m still hoping to come up with something. Plus, I’ll admit, I find the dilemma somewhat charming.)

  “You know what, Rez just may be the cavalry here. I haven’t seen her in here yet but my guess is that she’s got an analog in her bag. I doubt it’s a blank. You’d probably have to go the retread route.)

  (Listen, I’ll have you spin me the show eventually so I can have a crispy DAT. I’m really just looking for something I can listen to on my way home and on my drive back in tomorrow night.)

  “Just don’t forget to pop the tabs.”

  (It hasn’t been that long.)

  ZEB

  “Tomorrow for tonight, tomorrow for tonight. I’ll trade my tomorrow for your tonight. MY TOMORROW FOR YOUR TONIGHT!”

  What’s that I hear? The whoosh of a nitrous tank. Somebody just busted out the hippie crack.

  No balloon for me though, I’ve given it up. Even when I’m dosing and it can be as crinkly as it gets.

  Lesson learned in Charlotte last fall when I took a hit, passed out for three seconds, dropped the balloon and then crawled through broken glass trying to grab it again before all the nitrous spilled out.

  I had an out-of-body experience in that moment and I did not like what I saw. Plus my hands were bleeding, which is never a kind visual on acid.

  Nobody’s fault but mine.

  What’s crazy about the nitrous guys these days is they’re so out in the open. They’re not clandy about it at all. The whoosh draws in the Heads, who pay five bucks a balloon, wander around a little and then get back in line. The cops stay out of it because the nitrous mafia pays them off.

  When the cops are on the take, the nitrous dudes can get real obnoxious about it too. Some of them tour with their own sound system that’s heavy on the bass. So they get a dance party working and start whooshing out balloons. Disco lights too if it’s after dark. The whole scene becomes demented real quick. Then once the custies finish their balloons, they try to keep up with the frantic pace of it all. That works for a minute or two until the droning bass makes everything sound a little bit off and slightly uncomfortable. The solution? Why another balloon. So it’s back in line for more hippie crack. Again and again and again. A sad state of affairs. Positively diabolical. One night I nearly dropped fifty bucks that way, for myself and a sweet Sugar Magnolia I met on tour who was selling fresh pressed juice and crystals.

  Those dudes never even think about going into the shows, it’s a pure cash play for them. They make out like bandits too unless some competitor feels threatened and really hounds the cops. The way that story eventually ends is everyone loses because the cops force all the nitrous dudes to empty out their tanks. When that goes down the nitrous comes whooshing out for free and if you pick the right spot a safe distance away, it can be a religious experience. The thing to remember, though, is that the tank is pressurized, so if the cops and the nitrous guys don’t pay close enough attention you’ll end up with a chunk of tank in your head. I’ve heard stories.

  Maybe I deserve a treat though. It’s been six months and business has been good tonight…

  Well…

  No…

  I can’t go back and I can’t stand still. If the thunder don’t get me then the lightning will.

  “Tomorrow For Tonight! Trading tomorrow for tonight. Tomorrow For Tonight!”

  (Hey, I’ll do that.)

  “Really? Righteous!”

  Righteous!

  “To celebrate, can I interest you in a complimentary Beck’s?”

  (Yeah, man, great.)

  Wait, where did I put my—here it is.

  “Take a gander at this cutie. It’s no countie… It’s the real deal, on my honor… What’s the problem? It’s not a fake, I promise.”

  I think.

  (So this is a ticket for tomorrow night.)

  “That what it says. I mean, I didn’t look at it too closely when I bought it from these kids but… No, that’s what it is, a ticket for the Saturday night show.”

  (Bummer!)

  “What?”

  (I thought you were trading me tonight’s ticket for tomorrow night’s ticket. I already have a ticket for tomorrow night which I’m trying to trade for a ticket for tonight.)

  “Ahhh, man.”

  (Bummer. Let me give you a buck for the beer.)

  “Nah, keep it, brother.”

  A Beck’s costs two anyhow.

  (Well good luck, man.)


  “Same to you, brother. Just a little less luck than me…”

  (Ha!)

  “Hey now, nitrous zombies! Tomorrow for tonight! I have in my hand a ticket for tomorrow night’s show to trade for a ticket to tonight’s show. You hand me your tonight and I’ll hand you my tomorrow. My tomorrow for your tonight. MY TOMORROW FOR YOUR TONIGHT!”

  ROBIN

  Uhhh, I can barely breathe in here, I think I’m going to lose it.

  All these elbows and shoulders and backs. Please let me get up there. And please let Mara get in. And please let me find her. And please let me find kind dancing space.

  Inching forward…

  And please let this not be a counterfeit.

  Closer…

  Closer…

  Feeling the twinkles too. A little aloha from my Dark Star unicorn dose.

  Closer…

  Just one more push and…

  Finally, I can see the ushers…

  Here, we go…

  (I just need to give your bag a quick check…)

  A little pat down from the nice lady…

  (Ticket?)

  “Here it is!”

  He’s eyeing it, he’s eyeing it.

  Something’s not right.

  I can’t believe it’s a counterfeit. The taper guy seemed so kind. I can’t believe I bought a counterfeit. It looked so real too. It can’t be a counterfeit, can it?

  (This is a taper ticket, do you realize that?)

  “Umm, yes, but I’m not taping.”

  (You do realize that there’s a separate taper entrance, don’t you?)

  “Yes I do but I’m at the front of this line and I don’t have any taping gear and the show’s gonna start like any minute now. So can you could please let me in here?”

  (Let me talk to my boss. Can you hold on a moment?)

  “Indubitably.”

  I learned that from Schoolhouse Rock.

  (Hey, don’t walk away, what about the rest of us! We wanna get in there before the show starts.)

  “Sorry.”

  (What was their problem?)

  “It’s a taper ticket but I’m not going in through the taper entrance.”

  (Really? That’s it? But it’s a ticket right? This is so frustrating. It’s not even opening night. You figure they’d get their shit together and get on the same page by now. It’s like they can’t quite handle what’s going on out here and don’t entirely understand what we’re doing. This happens every time the circus comes to town.)