Might As Well

by Dean Budnick

  “I am familiar with her work.”

  (That pleases me. I’m happy to hear that you kids have an appreciation for what she does. Her light show enhances but never overwhelms. I tell you though, it always cracks me up that the woman running their lights is named Brightman. She’s a pioneer. And her sister Carol’s the real deal. She was a political activist in the ’60s and now she’s a literary scholar. I know someone at a publishing house, who’s going to be working with her on a big biography of some writers from the 1950s.)

  “Right on.”

  (And do you know who else is a literary scholar? Jerome Garcia. He—)

  There go the lights.

  (It’s on! They’re off! I mean the band’s coming on! Man, we were so busy talking I didn’t realize that Dan Healy was in place as well behind the soundboard. Alright, we’re back in business. Should I spark up?)

  “I’d be grateful.”

  (Well if they’re gonna pilot the plane then the least I can do is provide the in-flight entertainment.)

  “Right on.”

  (Or the entertainment insurance, if it’s going to be a weak set. I’m optimistic though. I’m not one of those picky Deadheads, who are always so judgmental about the music. I can tell you though that even an average set delivers above-average enjoyment when you’re sitting in these sweet seats.)

  That I can dig.

  This is going be Philtastic.

  We are IN THE ZONE.

  (Here you go. Take a deep hit but careful it’s potent.)

  The kind.

  “The kind…”

  (I told you. I have a guy for that as well. So what do you think? ‘Eyes?’)

  “I’d be game. Or maybe a festive ‘Aiko,’ just to get things rolling…”

  (They’re talking about it, which is always a good sign. Can’t hear any tuning yet… here take another hit…pregnant pause…Better butter your biscuits, you’re gonna get your Phil!)

  BOX OF RAIN!

  “Kind! Kind! KIND!”

  BAGEL BOB

  “Ah, Morning Gloria, Bob is happy for you.”

  (And why is that?)

  (Follow us! Everyone who is participating in the book demonstration, follow us!)

  “Bob does not believe that you are violating the posted decree.”

  (Why not?)

  (THIS WAY TO THE BOOK DEMONSTRATION!)

  “Bob does not believe that Anne Tyler qualifies as literature.”

  (Bullshit!)

  “Speak not to Bob. Bob admires Anne Tyler. She even quoted McGannahan Skjellyfetti in her fictional work Breathing Lessons. As you are no doubt aware McGannahan Skjellyfetti—”

  (Was the pseudonym for the Grateful Dead in the songwriting credits on their first album. Yes, Bob, what sort of Deadhead do you think I am?)

  “The sort of Deadhead who doesn’t know that ‘Golden Road’ appears in Anne Tyler’s Breathing Lessons.”

  (Ouch. Well I never read that one. I can’t always afford new books.)

  “Familiarize yourself with a lending library.”

  (But you’re always on the road, where is your library?)

  (FOLLOW US TO THE DEMONSTRATION!)

  “The world is Bob’s library.”

  (Meaning?)

  (THIS WAY—meaning that he steals books from bookstores, reads them and then returns them. Eh, Bob?)

  “This is a fact. But Bob also maintains a collection of nearly fourscore library cards which he employs when it proves fortuitous for him to do so.”

  (FOLLOW US TO THE DEMONSTRATION!)

  (Alright, that’s well and good. But what’s this crap about Anne Tyler?)

  “Bob does not believe that the arena authorities will consider the products of her pen to be literature.”

  (That’s crap. These people are lucky if they can read. And if they have heard of her and they don’t think she counts as literature, that’s because they’re a bunch of misogynist, impotent bastards who take out their inability to achieve erections upon the greater female reading populace.)

  (PARTICIPATE IN A HEATED DISCUSSION ABOUT THE MERITS OF CONTEMPORARY WOMEN AUTHORS AND THE FLACCIDITY OF CONTEMPORARY YELLOW JACKETS’ SEX ORGANS AT THE BOOK DEMONSTRATION!)

  “And simultaneously grant your detractors supplemental ammunition as well.”

  (Bob, play nice.)

  “I can tell your future, look what’s in your hand…”

  (Always on point, Robert. The other Bob, Mr. Weir, would be proud.)

  “Some folks look for answers, others look for fights…”

  (Now, now. No piling on.)

  STEVEN

  (This is the second set chonger I’ve been saving for your first show. Rolled to perfection with two papers from the last of my birthday bud.)

  “Thank you, man.”

  Owwww. Something’s just not right…

  (You’re gonna dig this.)

  “The herb?”

  (And the song. ‘Box of Rain’ baby…)

  How can he tell? I just hear blurps. This whole thing is a headgame. Or is that a Head game? And maybe’s it’s all not the innocent fun I once thought. Like with that shrine, whatever it is.

  “Hey, Nate, about that shrine…”

  (Shhh, just take a hit and pass it on to Burns…)

  Mmmm, kind bud for sure. And kind ‘Box.’ Now I can hear it. Alright, ‘Box of Rain.’ An American Beauty. I even know most of the words. Alright, maybe I will pull through. This is the second set. The totally Grateful Deady one. I wish it weren’t so damn cold in here but I got this. I’m in control.

  (Yo, Saint Steven, don’t bogart that joint.)

  ROBIN

  “Touching down. You?”

  (Nuh-uh.)

  “Clear the runways.”

  (Plane Jane.)

  “Myyy middle name. Jane.”

  (Haaaa!)

  “Plane Jane coming in for a landing. Yooou?”

  (Nuh-uh.)

  “Plane Jane back sooon.”

  (Nice up here.)

  “Can see your smiillllleeeeee”

  (Nothing left to do but—)

  “Smile smile smile.”

  (Jerry knows.)

  “Jerry knows. Whoaaah honey, lights.”

  (Jerry knows.)

  “Wanna run in and see?”

  (Uh-huh.)

  “Take hand…”

  (Ahhh—gurgle—cooooool.)

  “Oooohhhhhh. Box…”

  (Box Oooooooo.)

  “Hallway? Back out?”

  (Yesssssss)

  “Okayyyy”

  (Sweeeeettttt. Oooopps sorrrry.)

  Sodaaaagainnnn

  “Yesssss, it’s cleeannnn!”

  RANDY

  (Ellis, man, we’re going on the prowl!)

  “Schultz?”

  (Damn skippy. I’ve had enough of this shit. Literally.)

  “What happened?”

  (Pooch patrol.)

  “Huh?”

  (I believe he called it the canine corps. He deputized me and put me in command. I was supposed to regulate illicit canine fecal matter and issue fines. If I spied any of them in the prohibitive act of procreation, I was also supposed to uncouple them.)

  “What’s that?”

  (He wanted me to clean up dog crap and stop dogs from fucking. So I said fuck that. Then I came looking for you. You know what we’re going to do, we’re going to find that kid who took a poke at you at we’re going to teach him a lesson.)

  “Man, I don’t—”

  (And we’re gonna drink plenty of free beer along the way…)

  “Well…I am plenty fucking thirsty…”

  STELLA BLUE

  “I want my mommy!”

  “I wuh-wuh-w
aaaaaant my mommmeeeee!”

  Mommeeeeeee

  “I wuh-wuh-wuh-whaaaaaaaaaa!”

  TAPER TED

  Whoa, Samson!

  A Friday night “Samson.”

  Now there’s a semi-nugget.

  I don’t think they’ve played a non-Sunday “Samson” in quite a while, at least a year or so.

  There were a few during last spring’s Midwest run. I can remember a Tuesday or Wednesday at Rosemont but nothing after that.

  Nothing East Coast for sure.

  I wonder when. Let’s see what Mitch has to say back there if he’s not too distracted. He’s turned his back to speak with someone so maybe—

  Hold on, he’s talking to Chuck, the blackmail—the blankmail—the arsehole.

  Well Chuck is a taper after all and he is here tonight, so maybe it’s a coincidence or maybe he’s trying to extort something from him.

  Oh, he’s looking at me.

  What is that?

  Right, right September 23, 1988, MSG. Last non-Sunday “Samson” in these parts. That was the nine night Garden run. The next show was the biggie, the Rainforest Action Network Benefit with all the guests.

  I want to flip through the DeadBase back at the hotel and chart the days of the week when they pulled out “Samson”s. When did it evolve into a Sunday School song, ‘85? They started playing it in ‘76, that much I know.

  I’d also like to know a bit more about that Chuck guy.

  Mitch has his head back down in his deck, so he’s out of range.

  Okay, Ted, just let it go, that’s all for later.

  Get yourself back in the game.

  Keep pounding you Rhythm Devils. Make that “Samson” cook…

  BAGEL BOB

  (Kind Emerson, get your kind Emerson, right here!)

  (I’m soliciting Henry James. I’m soliciting Henry James.)

  (Who’s got your Edith Wharton? Who’s got your Edith Wharton?)

  (I’m looking for one. I’m looking for Volume One of Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past.)

  (Proust, is that how you pronounce it? His name rhymes with boost? I always thought it was rhymed with Faust.)

  (Forget the pronunciation, that whole thing is just brutal. It’s like reading about brushing your teeth for 4,000 pages. Why don’t you try something a bit more lively. How about Bukowski? I’ve got your kind Bukowski.)

  (Bukowski? That man’s a pig.)

  (He’s sure as shit unkind.)

  (Yeah, that’s not literature.)

  (It is too, you Bay Area snob. We Los Angeles Heads claim him for our own.)

  (Do we really?)

  (Your opinion on all of this, Robert?)

  “Bob thinks that Charles Bukowski belongs to us all, not just to Los Angeles, although Bob grants the misogyny and even the misanthropy—”

  (The protest Bob, the protest.)

  “So far Bob is in approval. Bob enjoys the comic far more than the confrontational.”

  (Well once the yellow jackets get here the action will pick up, I promise.)

  (Who’s got my Walt Whitman? Who can miracle me a Walt Whitman?)

  (I’ve got his complete works for you. All 1,500 pages.)

  (No, that’s too much. Clearly my eyes were bigger than my stomach on that one. Can you just give me a side of “Leaves of Grass?”)

  “A Whitman’s sampler, so to speak.”

  (Nice one, Bob!)

  (You want me to tear those pages out of the book? Sorry, no ordering off menu. It’s all or nothing.)

  (How about Carlos Castaneda, I’ve got your Carlos Castaneda.)

  (Hold on, that’s nonfiction.)

  (It is not. A Separate Reality is not intended to be read as a memoir. It’s an allegory, a novel.)

  (That’s a polite way of admitting that he totally made it up.)

  (Please do not splinter over this issue. We must stand firm. They’ll be here any moment.)

  (She’s right.)

  (This is all their doing. They’re trying to increase our divisiveness by refusing to show themselves while we squabble about literary categories.)

  (Yeah, and who was it that even offered the Castaneda? I’ve never seen him before. Maybe one of them has gone undercover, you know, as an agent provocateur.)

  (No, that was Fred. Remember him? Are you high?)

  (Well, now that you mention it…)

  (Come on, quit screwing around. These are the people who are taking advantage of us, breaking into our cars, stealing our livelihoods. It’s unreasonable and we have to stop it.)

  (She’s right, she’s right. We have to. So who’ll take my Wolfe, I’m soliciting Wolfe.)

  (Tom or Thomas?)

  (I’ve got both.)

  (Mike, hand me the megaphone. ATTENTION PLEASE! NO, FUCK THE PLEASE. WE DEMAND YOUR ATTENTION! YELLOW JACKETS, WE DEMAND YOUR ATTENTION! WE REFUSE TO YIELD BEFORE YOUR ATROCITIES! THE ATROCITIES OF YOUR DECREES AND THE ATROCITIES OF YOUR ACTIONS!)

  (You said it.)

  (She said it.)

  (She did. I heard it.)

  (WHICH IS WHY WE STAND BEFORE YOU TONIGHT IN DIRECT VIOLATION OF YOUR PROCLAMATION THAT WE NOT DISTRIBUTE OR SOLICIT LITERATURE. WELL, WE’RE GONNA DO THAT! WE’RE HERE TONIGHT TO DO JUST THAT, AREN’T WE?)

  (Hell yeah!)

  (Damn straight!)

  (You tell ’em!)

  (Here they come, Bob. It’s finally on. Now you’ll see some flying shit.)

  “Bob hopes he remembers to duck.”

  ROBIN

  “Wahooooo!”

  (SAMSON!)

  “And Deeeliiii-laaahhh!”

  (SAMSON-ITE! SAMSONITE!)

  “Heeeeeahhahaahhaaa!”

  Twirl twirl twirl.

  Whooahhhhahhhaa!ll

  Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh-BAH

  “Samson-iyiyiyiyahhhahahaaa!”

  (SAMSONITE!)

  “lyahhaaahaaahahahh!”

  (SAMSONITE!)

  “Iyyyitahhhaahayeahhhhahahaaa!”

  Bobby! Bobby!

  (LUGGAGE!)

  “Buh-heeeahaaahhahaa!

  (SING TO YOUR LUGGAGE, BOBBY!)

  “Heeeeahahahaaaah!”

  STELLA BLUE

  (Why don’t you look all prettied up with your beads and your dress. What’s your name?)

  “Stella.”

  (Why that’s a lovely name. My name is Ernie, like the character on Sesame Street.)

  “Uh-huh?”

  (Do you know who Ernie is?)

  “Nuh-uh.”

  (You don’t know who Ernie is? Don’t you watch Ernie on Sesame Street?)

  “Nuh-uh.”

  (Do you watch television in your house?)

  “Nuh-uh.”

  (Well that’s too bad. Ernie is really funny.)

  “I don’t live in a house. I live in a ’partment.”

  (Ohhh. And do you watch television in your apartment?)

  “Nuh-uh.”

  (Well you should. I let little girls watch television in my apartment. Would you like to watch television and see Ernie act funny?)

  “Uh-huh, but Mommy says it’s bad.”

  (She says watching Ernie act funny is bad?)

  “She says television is bad.”

  (Oh, she does? Well where is your mommy?)

  “I wuh-ant my mommmeeeeee!”

  (Ohh, don’t cry. Would you like to come with me? You could watch some funny Ernie on TV while big Ernie looks for your mommy.)

  “Dunno.”

  (Would you like something to eat? I can get you something to eat.)

  “Nuh-huh. I have to pee. I wuh-ant my Mommmeeeeee!””

  (Let me take your hand. I’ll bring you somewhere where you can pee. O
kay?)

  “O-kay.”

  ZEB

  (Can you believe it? Jerry’s wearing a black T-shirt tonight.)

  Huh?

  (Just kidding. Now there’s something you should try. Buy yourself a box of Hanes black T-shirts and sell them alongside your beers and bumper stickers. Put up a little sign that says ‘Buy Jerry’s T.’)

  “Right on.”

  (Here’s another one. Passover is coming up in another week or two although it usually lands in the middle of spring tour. Now I don’t know if you’re a Grateful Yid but I am. So what you could do is bring a few boxes of matzahs on tour and make your own logo for them or even just a sign that says Unleavened Dead. You can target Jewish Deadheads who forget about the holiday and aren’t allowed to eat a burrito.)

  “Right on.”

  (Food for thought, right? Next year. You have to keep thinking ahead. Although I’m not so sure if they’re thinking ahead. ‘Looks Like Rain’ makes it two Bobby’s in a row.)

  “Fine by me.”

  (Just so long as Bobby stays out of the screamer. We need a balance of thunder, lightning, rain and shine. We’ll see how it goes. So far it’s been strong this tour. My guess is you’re not tapped into the taping community like I am but you should run not walk to seek out the ‘Looks Like Rain’ from opening night of this tour. You really need to hear it.)

  “I did, brother, from the twelfth row.”

  STEVEN

  Looks like rain, feels like rain.

  Those are my Dead vibes.

  The sound is all wrong, speeding up and slowing down, speeding up and slowing down.

  Burns is right, I should find a bathroom and blow chunks.

  Look at him. I can’t believe it. He’s all over her, touching her, pretending that he’s trying to make her feel better, like he’s Mr. Sensitivity or something. He’s such a phony. He’s got her, I can’t believe it, he’s got her. He’s not Mr. Sensitivity, I’m Mr. Sensitivity.

  Uhhh. My stomach’s feeling sensitive.

  Eeechhhh, and I have this nasty taste in my mouth, like dried up chocolate onion donuts.

  And what’s with the shrine?

  “Nate, what’s with the shrine?”