"Holes In What's Left Of My Reason...."

I think that "Lost Sailor->Saint of Cicumstance" is a combo that the Grateful Dead really should have played more often.

Supa- Jam!!!

The Throwing Stones Video!!!!

I remember hearing abut them shooting this video. I have seen pictures of them in their outfits for this video, the long dusters. BUt I have NEVER found the actual video, in any way, shape or form.....Until today.

  

 Here is the link....I won't necessarily say it was WORTH the 22 year wait, but I am glad that it is no longer a white whale.

Sorry that you have to cut and paste the link.

         http://web.piczo.com/zone/item/Asj4MgATjsMAAAAZqKiJxHgo

I found an embeddable version.

Throwing Stones @ Yahoo! Video

Play Ball !!

Let's Go Mets !!!!!

'Sup ?

Okay, so it has been exactly six months since I have been here...How unacceptable is THAT ?

Since we last spoke, the surviving members of the Good Old Grateful Dead have reunited under their problematic moniker The Dead for a Spring Tour. Unfortunately, they are not coming close enough to me that I will be able to see them, though I also was a little surprised at the ticket prices I saw ($89.00 ? really ? And a friend of mine paid near $100 bucks for nosebleed seats in Los Angeles). I must admit, if they came a little closer, I probably would have bit the bullet and gone to see them.
I'm hoping if they do a summer tour that they will either be somewhere North East while we are up there, or maybe they'll hit FLA or GA.

Happy Belated Birthday to Phil Lesh!!!

I promise I will come around more often.

Let's leave it with a little Phil lead vocal...Whaddya say ?(Pale legged brothers UNITE!!)

Weir & PigPen....

Did I actually not know that Weir and PigPen were once kicked out of the band, or had I just forgotten ?

I Don't Like August 9th...

Eulogy for Jerry Garcia By Robert Hunter

(Delivered August 13, 1995, The Jerry Garcia Memorial, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, California.)

Jerry, my friend,
you've done it again,
even in your silence
the familiar pressure
comes to bear, demanding
I pull words from the air
with only this morning
and part of the afternoon
to compose an ode worthy
of one so particular
about every turn of phrase,
demanding it hit home
in a thousand ways
before making it his own,
and this I can't do alone.
Now that the singer is gone,
where shall I go for the song?

Without your melody and taste
to lend an attitude of grace
a lyric is an orphan thing,
a hive with neither honey's taste
nor power to truly sting.

What choice have I but to dare and
call your muse who thought to rest
out of the thin blue air,
that out of the field of shared time,
a line or two might chance to shine --

As ever when we called,
in hope if not in words,
the muse descends.

How should she desert us now?
Scars of battle n her brow,
bedraggled feathers on her wings
and yet she sings, she sings!

May she bear thee to thy rest,
the ancient bower of flowers
beyond the solitude of days,
the tyranny of hours --
the wreath of shining laurel lie
upon your shaggy head,
bestowing power to play the lyre
to legions of the dead.

If some part of that music
is heard in deepest dream,
or on some breeze of Summer
a snatch of golden theme,
we'll know you live inside us
with love that never parts
our good old Jack O' Diamonds
become the King of Hearts.

I feel your silent laughter
at sentiments so bold
that dare to step across the line
to tell what must be told,
so I'll just say I love you
which I never said before
and let it go at that old friend,
the rest you may ignore.