“SOMEONE DONE GAVE ME A YOUNG BOY.”
Oh, not two days in a row.
“AH HAVE ALREADY BEGUN TO RAISE HIM IN THE TRADITIONAL PRESLEY FASHION.”
“AH PULLED HIM OUTTA SCHOOL AND BOUGHT HIM PROSTITUTES OF VARYING ETHNICITIES.”
That’s not how you raise a kid.
“HOW ELSE WILL HE KNOW HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A CHICANA?”
That kid shouldn’t be making love to anything or anyone. He should be asking Santa for a Red Ryder BB gun.
“BB GUN? HELL, NAW. GOT HIM AN UZI.”
Please stop buying weapons and whores for children, Elvis.
“AH NEED A MALE HEIR. SOMEONE MUST CONTINUE MAH NAME, AND ALL OF MAH PHILANTHROPIC EFFORTS.”
What philanthropic efforts?
“EMPLOYING CHARLIE HODGE.”
“NOT A LOTTA PEOPLE C’N AFFORD A FULL-TIME SCARF-AND-WATER MAN.”
That kid looks fucking terrified.
“OH, NO! YOU RIGHT, BOY! AH MUST HAVE GIVEN HIM MAH HEEBIE-JEEBIES!”
Not a thing.
“SOMEONE CALL DR. NICK.”
NO! Do NOT call Dr. Nick.
“DR. NICK IS A LICENSED PEDIATRICIAN.”
He is not. Not at all.
“DRIVER’S LICENSE COUNTS.”
Elvis, we need to take a break.
“YOU’LL BE BACK.”
Hey, Pig. Whatcha doing?
“Don’t you ‘Hey, Pig’ me, punk! The Pig’s out here sweatin’ and frettin’, tryin’ to make it right for the boys and girls out there so they can MAKE IT, and you come around here, what, once a month? Say ‘Hey, Pig’ every four weeks?”
“Wait! I know what you are now! You’re a period!”
“Monthly menace! Get what you need and skedaddle back to that brokedown present o’ yours! That’s your game!”
Pig, that is not my game. I have no game.
“That’s what all the ladies say, too!”
“Aw, the Pig’s just pulling your leg a li’l bit. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
You could visit, y’know. You have access to a Time Sheath. Brent’s here all the time. Had to chase Garcia out of Soldier Field at least twice.
“Nah. I’ve taken a look, and you done fucked up damn near everything! Fightin’ in the streets and hatred in the air!”
That was going on in your time, too.
“That’s what I’m sayin’! Supposed to get smarter, aintcha? World’s doin’ the exact same bullshit fifty years along! Enough to put a Pig in his cups!”
Well, it didn’t take too much to do that, did it?
“Heh, no. You know the ol’ Pig’ll take a drink.”
“Besides, ain’t no place for a bluesman no more. When’s the last time you saw one out in the wild?”
Been a while.
“What now, you scribblin’ simp!?”
Why are you guys so blurry?
“Don’t be puttin’ that on the Pig! Your magic typewriter done goofed us all up!”
Yeah, could be.
Hey, Snidely. Whatcha doing?
“Tying women to things.”
“No. Other things.”
What’s it like being the only Jew in the Grateful Dead?
“Simcha Torah is very lonely.”
“I’m the only one who eats the hamentashen, so I get fat every year.”
“Sometimes when Billy’s drinking, he’ll point out ovens to me.”
That’s crossing a line.
“Probably, yeah. Ya gotta remember: I’m not the Jewiest Jew that ever Jewed. I like the outdoors and blowing shit up and getting in fights: I’m more like an Israeli than a Jew.”
Non-Jews will not see the distinction.
“Fuck ’em. Although I did teach Phil about Kabbalah.”
What do you know about Kabbalah?
“Nothing. But Phil knows less. I tied some yarn around his wrist, slapped some bacon out of his hand, and charged him a grand.”
“Oh, I also did a klezmer album, Keepin’ it Kosher with Mickey?”
How did it do?
“The album was never released.”
The people need to hear it.
“They probably don’t.”
During ’68, Garcia would slip into soft focus on occasion. People would rub their eyes, and wipe their glasses on their shirts; it wasn’t them. It was him. He would not explain where, or from whom, he had learned this trick, and it scared the shit out of Bobby.
By the Fillmore West shows in late February of ’69, he had stopped doing it altogether, and everyone sort of forgot about it. The memory was fuzzy.
Hey, Garcia. Whatcha Doing?
“Busting the teeth off combs, soloing.”
There is a convention for intellectuals and big-brains of all sorts in Albuquerque this week regarding the Dead. I was neither invited not notified, but I do have a good question for one of them researcher types to figure out: when was Phil allowed out from behind the drums? He was still hiding back there in some of the shots from Europe in ’72. By the Wall, it was physically impossible to stand back there anymore, and that continued with the more-traditional band setup that followed the de-hiatusing.
That’s what the Dead did in ’76: de-hiatused. Like you deplane.
If the Dead had broken up February 15th, 1968, then they still would have played this still-astonishing chunk of music the night before, and therefore been in contention for the Best EVAR awards.
I have linked to it before, and it’s been officially released, and you’ve memorized every note: no matter; it still shines and rumbles like a chromed-out fuckdozer. Let this music make rough love to your ears, and face. They are out of tune, but so are you and no one calls you on it: Pig and Garcia and the ones they left behind to wander around.
Sunday Funday from the great Voodoonola: eight cleaned-up and synced minutes from Columbia University back in ’68. Fire up the Time Sheath and shut down the campus, maaaaaan.