One Halloween when I was young, my father walked to the door at around 8:30 and shouted to the neighborhood, “That’s it! Halloween’s over! All children home now!” Now, my father may or may not have been a dick (may) but his lesson was a good one: sometimes, someone needs to step in and declare something done; TotD does so now.
The 50th Anniversary is over. No more Grateful Dead 50th Anniversary, please. I don’t care if next week is the 50th anniversary of Garcia playing an entire set out of tune or whatever: leave me out of it. Today was another in a seemingly unending string of these days; over the past year, we’ve celebrated the 50th anniversaries of:
- First practice.
- First practice everyone showed up at.
- First practice everyone blew off.
- First practice that didn’t end in a fistfight.
- First time everyone saw Phil naked (this was within an hour).
- First time everyone saw Billy naked (right after Phil).
- First through eleventh time someone tried to explain the scoring system of tennis to Bobby. (“Well, why don’t they just say ‘zero?'”)
- First time Bobby was the only one to get laid after the gig.
- First time the harmonies were “good enough, man.”
- First T-shirt Tuesday.
- First time the nitties were box-back.
We’ve had a lot of fun this year and, you know: you don’t need an excuse to celebrate the Dead and the wonderful music they left us, or the silly stories we tell about them.
This now concludes the scolding. See you for the 60th.