Things You Don’t Often See

Yesterday's Metrorail ride provided me with one of the strangest visions ever. There was a disturbed young man, talking to himself with passion and vehemence. That in and of itself is not unusual. However, this particular young man was doing so in American Sign Language. It was apparently quite a heated conversation. I was transfixed, but didn't want to be rude and stare. Good thing I have great peripheral vision.

Then in the evening, as planned we went to see The Bob.

He didn't touch a guitar during his set, just stood at the electric keyboard in a wide-legged, Jerry Lee Lewis type stance, and banged out some fierce boogie woogie. He never ceases to amaze and delight me. The arena was less than half full, since the main show was the Dead, and the Deadheads were all out in the parking lot carny getting their highs synchronized.

These are my notes:
Scenes from a Dead Show
The scent of patchouli hits you as you enter the arena.

The middle-aged tie-dyed stoners sucking face, no -- tongue wrestling in the row in front of me, pausing to watch their hand trails.

A sea, a veritable sea, of tie dye.

Hemp jewelry. LED buttons. A beach ball, and then another and another, each larger than the last.

Tie dyed heads on cell phones, taking pictures of the crowd, just talking through the show.

Road worn Dead carnies from the tent city along side the arena.

Bad hair style and fake boobs, a no-longer-young woman skips through the audience with her teen daughter pushing along in front.

Leathery, stretch-marked bellies exposed between halter tops and low rider jeans. Grey pony tails and matching beards.

Babies with ear plugs and a very pregnant woman in black.

Tattoos. Lots and lots and lots of tattoos, but not so much body piercing.

Repeated shouts from around the arena: "See you in Tampa", "Tampa next", "I'm gonna skip Dylan tomorrow."

Do-rags and hairy shoulders. An Uncle Sam in full regalia. Top hats, Cat-in-the-Hat hats, jester hats with tails and bells, Rasta crocheted over sized tams.

A firecracker.

The word SKANK floats across my consciousness. A mullet in a tie-dye button up camp shirt.

And the "dancing". I'd forgotten about the Deadhead dance. Both feet planted firmly on the floor (I guess cause they're so stoned they'd fall over if they moved one or both) knees bend, tusch out, a little bounce... very much like Beavis and Butthead danced. This dance, which they all do, has much more in common with davening in an Orthodox shul than it does with anything I consider dancing, even if it's just basic shake yer groove thang.

I still dislike Deadheads.