Articles Archive for 9 August 2005
Today is the tenth anniversary of Jerry Garcia’s death. That’s some heavy shit. Back when I was a wee teenager, I loved the Grateful Dead. I started seriously listening to music early on, around 4th or 5th grade. Back then, my main musical obsessions were Bobby Brown and the other members of New Edition, Milli Vanilli, and anything that George Michael was involved in.
Later, my tastes got more “urban”. Tribe blew my mind, as did more R&B-ish acts like Jodeci. I recall listening to Power 99FM (Philly’s then and possibly now hip-hop station) in the back bedroom of my mom’s house on summer nights, following the segue from regular programming to “The Quiet Storm”, four hours of slow-jamming/love-making R&B from 10pm until 2am. I can not count the number of self-induced orgasms that began with Babyface singing “I only think of you/on two occasions” or SWV harmonizing on “Weak”. If PM Dawn’s “I’d Die Without You” came on, I’d be in full-blown rapture in seconds.
But eventually, divine inspiration came to me in the form on three albums I first listened to in 8th grade: Eric Clapton “Unplugged”, The Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper”, and the Grateful Dead’s “American Beauty”.
And then it was on. I became obsessed with the Dead and the enigma that was Jerry Garcia. I wore all the t-shirts and collected all the cds. The music blew me away. I had never gotten high in my life, yet I could sit and listen to the entire twenty-three minute version of “Dark Star” from ”Live Dead” without moving a muscle. I glowed with a profound contentment when Jerry sang, “Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile” on “He’s Gone”, a song that to this day I listen whenever I lose a loved one or before I go to a funeral – its therapeutic powers can not be captured on paper. And I’m lucky enough to be one of the few people I know my age who’s actually seen the Dead too, as my second concert (my first? Paula Abdul and Color Me Badd).
And when Jerry died, I was crushed. I had seen him on the second to last tour and sure, he looked terrible, bent awkwardly and uncomfortably over his guitar, seeming to barely hang on, but the guy was an icon. A god, even. He was in terrible shape, struggling with his weight, diabetes, and his heroin addiction, but I never thought he would die. Indeed, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had outlived me (even at a young age, I was presciently aware of my own fragile mortality, even though it hasn’t been a problem – yet).
And so, like a bunch of other hippies, on the day of Jerry’s death I went down to Independence Hall park in Philadelphia, where an impromptu gathering of Dead fans was held. There was singing and dancing and general comforting. There was sadness, but also great joy. A celebration, not a vigil. I took home the candle that I held that night, bought all the papers the next day and cut out all the articles about Jerry and his death, including the pull-out poster in the Philadelphia Daily News. Then I covered the articles and poster in contact paper and hung them above my bed, putting the candle just below them, creating a make-shift memorial that would remain there until I left for college.
I look back now and think as I re-read this, “Damn – that’s crazy.” And it was a little crazy. But that doesn’t mean that I was affected any differently. I can’t see myself now being so moved by a music group or so shattered by the death of a musician. But 16 year-old me sure was. Those teenage years are an awkward time, especially to a plumper who falls in love with every girl he sees but is condemned to a life of celibacy because he sucks at basketball and kinda likes TS Eliot. Music, especially the music of the Grateful Dead, was what kept me going and is in large part responsible for what I am today: a fat, mildly successful jerkoff with a solid grip on reality (who also has excellent taste in music).
I can end this in any number of cheesy ways, like exclaiming “Thank you Jerry!” as tears roll down my cheeks or writing a pertinent lyric from a Dead song. Instead, I’ll close by saying what I’d love for someone to say about me at my funeral (on August 31, 2009): Jerry Garcia was really fucking awesome. Rock on, man. Rock the fuck on.
Hugo Chavez, spunky presidente of Venezuela, had some choice words for the US recently at this year’s World Festival of Students and Youth.Instead of talking to the students about important young people things like sex, cigarettes, and who can get them beer, Chavez turned his attention to world diplomacy, calling the US ”the most savage, cruel and murderous empire that has existed in the history of the world.”Chavez continued that his rant, saying that the US “won’t stop caressing the idea of invading Cuba or invading Venezuela” (no word on whether Chavez’s use of the word “caressing” was intentionally poetic or just broken English). He added: “If someday they get the crazy idea of coming to invade us, we’ll make them bite the dust defending the freedom of our land.”The reaction of the students was largely apathetic, as most couldn’t hear Chavez’s speech because they were listening to the Black Eyed Peas on their iPods and thinking about making out with the hotter, fitter socialist students present.While the US did not release an official response to Chavez’s speech, American Jews took umbrage with the Venezuelan president’s denunciation of the US as worst. empire. ever. Said the ubiquitous Jewish love doctor, Rabbi Shumley Boteach, “‘Worst ever’? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? George W ain’t great, but he’s no Hitler. Where the hell is Venezuela anyway? It’s one of those Mexico-type countries, isn’t it? Does anyone else find it creepy that I offer dating advice based on the Ten Commandments and one of my books is called ‘Kosher Sex’?”Also taking offense were descendents of the nomadic tribes that lived in Western China, the Russian steppes and the plains of Eastern Europe in the late 12th and early 13th centuries.“You think the US and Bush is bad? Well, you ain’t seen shit until you’ve been fucked by the Mongols,” said Roger Howlett, a 29 year-old carpenter and aspiring DJ from Columbia, South Carolina who is a direct descendent of the tribes of Ruthenian, conquered by the Mongols and Genghis Khan in 1220. “Now that is some serious shit right there. Genghis Khan and those mother fuckers running roughshod on a whole fucking continent for two hundred years, raping, pillaging and lighting shit on fire, and you think the US is bad? Fuck that. Fuck that. Am I getting paid for this?”When reached for a follow-up comment, Chavez quoted a line in the Tu Pac Shakur song “Hit ‘Em Up”, saying, “That’s why I fucked your bitch, you fat mother fucker” before turning and walking away.
Oh Hugo, you crazy son of a bitch. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m your typical, East Coast, city livin’, educated liberal who loves to bash George W. Bush. But saying that the US is “the most savage, cruel and murderous empire that has existed in the history of the world” is not only offensive, but just plain historically inaccurate. I’ll let your lack of historical perspective slide, because you have bigger fish to fry in Venezuela (i.e. 47% of the population living below the poverty line, the whole suspected “voter fraud” thing, etc).
But it’s ok for me to badmouth the US because I live here. I pay my taxes to live in the greatest country in the world, so if I wanna say it sucks, I’m gonna say it sucks. I vote and I have an awesome blog on which I occasionally (read: rarely) write about politics, so I guess you could say I’m both a political activist and an advocate of free speech.
Having said that, it’s NOT ok for you to badmouth the US. You must think you’re pretty tough shit down there, high on your perch in your borderline third world country, talking shit on us when we’re 2000 miles away. Well let me tell you something bitch, you have NO IDEA who you are fucking with. Venezuela? You ain’t shit. If you haven’t heard, you better ask somebody, because there’s one thing about the US you should know: we do NOT fuck around. Fuck with us, and we take you out. We don’t care if your government is dictatorial and oppressive or legitimate and sovereign, we will fuck – you – up.
Shit, I personally will fuck you up. If you have a problem, why don’t you send me an email and we can settle this shit like real men? You don’t know where I’m from, mother fucker – I’ll take that socialist shit and shove it up your ass, bitch. Test me. Fucking test me.
…
That’s what I thought.
Now, let’s just move on. Can someone get me a milkshake to calm me down?