We got any Deadheads here on WCS?

Tomorrow, the Dead & Company (3 remaining members of The Grateful Dead & the lady killer John Mayer) will be at Citi Field in beautiful Queens, New York. If you have not been to a Dead show, those tailgates are fucking awesome. Just as outrageous as a Jimmy Buffet tailgate except people are on drugs… a LOT of fucking drugs.

The devotion some of these people have to the Dead is comparable to the Bills Mafia, Steeler Nation, and Raiders Fans. People have been following them around since 1965, doing the same thing over and over again: living out of a van, doing acid and whippets, watching the Dead turn 4 minute songs into 20 minute long epics, fucking in the mud, then waking up and doing it again the next day. And now picture that routine, but with people who are now in there 60s-70s. It is absolutely absurd.

When I was 13 years old my dad took me to see just one of the guys from the Grateful Dead at Jones Beach Theater. We arrived at the tailgate and he introduced to me to a very weird group of people.

“Hey dad, how come I haven’t met any of these people before?”

“Well son, mom isn’t the biggest fan of these people. And it would be a lot better if you don’t tell her about them. Ok bud? Great, now grab me a beer please, thanks.”

Within half an hour it was clear to me why these people and my mother would not get along. Wearing rags and tie die shirts, missing teeth, and getting high as fuck, I didn’t even think to my self “How on gods earth does my dad know these freakshows?”

All I could think about was that this shit is fun. I had just left 8th grade and still had not smoke pot yet, because in my mind no one smoked pot, because pot is drugs, and drugs is bad. Nope, not here! Before I knew it, Jones Beach Theater was covered in a cloud of smoke and I was so light headed I couldn’t even stand. One of the women who was part of our crew was standing next to me dancing like a gypsie, and started puking all over the place. The crowd was going nuts. It was a fucking scene.

Now I’m a lot older, I DO fuck with pot, and other things, and Dead tailgates are the highlight of my summer. Last year I hadn’t seen my cousin in like a year, comes up to me and says “Yea, so just bought this weed brownie from a hippie over there, wanna split it?” Abso-fucking-lutley. That’s quality family bonding that just isn’t going to happen at Grandma’s house.

So tomorrow I’ll be heading to Queens with my pops, to meet up with his sketchy group of friends to booze, get a little high, jam out to some phenomenal tunes, and participate in one of the greatest people watching events in the world. The whole day radiates positive vibes, with the occasional person having a bad trip, which at times is hilarious others terrifying. People dancing like freaks, selling grilled cheeses and edibles out of the back of their 1960s Volkswagen vans, respectable looking grandmothers/fathers ripping down joints absolutely crushing retirement.

The scene is just happening man. Turn on, tune in, and drop out.

Side note – My dad had the balls to get pissed at ME when he found a bowl and sploof like 5 years ago in my closet, when HE was the one dragging me to Dead shows? Where the fuck is the sense in that?

 

 

In Jerry We Trust,

Rell