Due to the vagaries of appendices, the Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) will be in my neck of the swamp this week. The band is playing the BB&T Center in Fort Lauderdale, which is less than an hour from me. I have no plans to go, but could be persuaded to consider mulling over the possibility of maybe perhaps thinking about going.
(I will say this upfront before I start making ludicrous demands: Dead & Company should be ashamed of themselves for not inviting me. How dare they not reach out to their biggest fan who, technically, has never said anything nice about them? To five of them, I say that this is an outrage. To Mickey, I say: it’s a shonda.)
I will now make ludicrous demands:
- I’m not paying for the ticket.
- Someone is going to meet me in the parking lot and be my Show Buddy (hereafter referred to as SB).
- SB may be male or female, gay or straight, black or white, but must be freshly-showered.
- If people are wandering around the lot in those fucking bear costumes, SB will hold and comfort me until the bears hove from view.
- Gotta buy me a big-ass pretzel.
- You can also buy yourself one, but if you don’t, don’t be pestering me for any of mine.
- They don’t do that bullshit where you have to stand up the whole show, do they?
- I am not doing that; I like to recline because every day is Passover to TotD, baby.
- We will need to discuss my honorarium.
- SB can’t wear flippity-flops; my head would explode halfway through the first set.
- I’m not paying for parking.
- Other things that require SB to hold and comfort me: women named Stacy, discussions about cheese, fountains.
- TotD is also scared of both heights and widths, so holding and comforting may be necessary in situations arising thereof.
- SB must know CPR and be a good guy with a gun.
And there you have it. Now no one can accuse me of not at least trying to leave my house.
You’re becoming the madwoman in the attic.
IS SHE NOT NECESSARY?