(This from a letter I sent to my best friend Mark, who went to the show with me).

Just when I thought that the parking lot scene couldn’t get any weirder or worse, I was proven wrong again. Never have I seen so many people selling T-shirts, beers (every brand imaginable), stir fry, veggie sandwiches, burritos, deep-fried egg rolls, jewelry, cigarettes (?), nitrous, juice, sodas... In the middle of this mess was the security force, which was trying to shut the whole thing down. I did see two nitrous tanks seized, but otherwise not much happened. A zillion people looking for tickets (for a 100,000 seat stadium!) although I can tell you from first-hand experience that some of the more serious space doggies were holding out for $5 tickets. (Face value: $27.50).

We stood outside the stadium and heard the sound check, which was great. Jerry singing New Speedway Boogie and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and Bobby and Vince rehearsing an old Motown song, Ain’t That Peculiar.

Toward the end of Stings’ set, you and I moved way up front on the field. (D.C. is still the easiest place I know to sneak onto the field). We made it to the first row, way over on the left side. You are still the champ of front-row politics (a great grasp of who you may legitimately move in front of and whose position in the queue you must respect) so you surprised me when you decided to head back to your seat. In all fairness, this one can be chalked up to married life, since Sherry (Mark's girlfriend at the time) was still back at our assigned seats.

For the first time in years, I decided to stick it out. As I may have mentioned, I have developed some kind of mild claustrophobia in recent years (forcing me to abandon my plans to dig a one-person tunnel to the center of the earth) so smooshed into the first few rows may not have been the best place for me.

The security guards who were standing between the front-row wall and the stage were great. It was very hot and sunny out, and they spent the entire intermission passing out paper cups of water to us.

BUT... I always forget that D.C. draws a very heavy frat-boy crowd. What a nightmare. The frat boys had pushed their way to the front, and they were still pushing, yelling, trying to hoist their frat-girls up onto their shoulders (and then dropping them on top of the rest of us). Taking the cups of water that were being passed out and pouring them on each other instead of sharing them. It was awful, and caused me to mutter to no one in particular words to the effect of, “It didn’t use to be like this 10 years ago; Deadheads took care of each other.” (Or is this just wishful dreaming?)

This caused me to dig in even further, doing my best to help people get water, and letting several women who were shorter than me have my spot so they could see better. (Rather shocking behavior for a New Yorker; I hope no one who knows me saw any of this.)

The first set ended with one of the greatest Promised Land’s in recent history. As a long-time front-row pro, I tried to sit down immediately for the 45 minute intermission. The frat boys would have none of it. After the third one fell over me, they yelled loud enough until I stood up.

During intermission I saw a women near me looking at me and smiling and whispering to her girlfriend. I smiled back and pretended to whisper to the total stranger next to me. I gave several more short people my spot, and wound up next to the smiling woman. We chatted a little. She told me that she is a chef.

During the drums I gave her my spot so she could see Billy working on some type of percussion synthesizer while Mickey played the string synthesizer. Friends, I’m not exactly sure how this all happened, but she was standing in front of me and we were holding hands. Her friend had gone to the bathroom, and when she returned she looked sufficiently surprised to see us holding hands. I leaned over and said to her, “Oh, by the way; we’re engaged now.”

“I don’t know how we can be engaged; he hasn’t even kissed me yet,” the woman in front of me said.

Well, we spent the rest of the show hugging, kissing, drooling, etc. etc. Amazing in part because this is exactly the type of behavior that I detest in others in public. (J’accuse!) Had it been anyone else, I would have been making all sorts of ugly faces and uglier noises. But there I was...

I don’t know if you saw Eric Bogossian’s shows Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll or Drinking In America, but in each he does a character who is sort of the classic Brooklyn hard-drinking, woman-chasing, young lout. You know; every story is about a car crash, drug binge, or a babe.

In Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll, he tells a miserable garish story about the character going to a bachelor party at his friend’s house.

“So... I’m sitting on the sofa, with the babes in bikinis. I’m doing ’ludes and snorting coke. I’m drinkin’ beer. Watching football on TV. Eating potato chips -- you know, the ones with those little ridges? And we got that dip that you make from onion soup mix. And I’m saying to myself...this is civilized.”

SO... I felt like that at the show. I’m in the fifth row center, seeing my favorite band in the world, I’m hugging and kissing a beautiful woman who is a really terrific kisser (I haven’t kissed anyone who could kiss this well in at least three years!), even the frat boys have given us a little room, and I can’t help saying to myself...THIS is civilized.

Somewhere in the back of my brain I’m also thinking that this is a pretty good show, but I’m “missing” most of it, because my attention is focused on this woman. It’s love and sex vs. music and culture and the kissing is winning.

The show ends, and I asked her with great trepidation where she lived.

“New Hope (PA), but I’m moving to Sacramento next week.” Ah me. New Hope was close enough to deal with, but Sacramento is a bit much.

Now I’m sure that I’m going home with her, or to a hotel, or just staying here and kissing her, or SOMETHING, and I’m thinking rapidly about what to do about Sherry, you, and Tina (the person I'm supposed to be staying with). My pack is in your car, and I foresee a lot of embarrassing questions that I don’t think I’ll be able to answer easily. During the show I had leaned over to the friend of the woman I was kissing and whispered, “If you think I understand what is going on, I do not!”

I had a key to Tina’s place that she had mailed me. I was supposed to try to sneak in after the show without waking up her and her dog. I figured that I would go home with this woman I met, then call Tina in the morning and tell her that I had stayed with you at your cousin’s house.

So I was rather surprised after One More Saturday Night when she said, “Well, I’m going to go with my friend now.” During The Weight we stared into each other’s eyes and sang along.

And she was gone.

I don’t know her name. She doesn’t know my name.

It was great. Not just for the kissing, which was way much swell, but for the magic, for the events that might have happened next but that we’ll never know about, for the mystery, and for the humor. On the days when I believe in God, I believe that God has a great sense of humor. I kept saying that I was going down to D.C. to get kissed, and I did. Just not by Tina, the person I EXPECTED to kiss! There is also the fact that I have been relationship-less so long that doubts about my physical attractiveness have started to creep in. (“Creep in”? Stampede in!) so this helped my fragile male ego.

SO... I came out of the show a babbling wreck. Offended every one of my friends by my erratic behavior, and had to offer a whole flock of apologies later.

But wait! Don’t tell us yet how much you’d pay, because there’s more!...

Glen

(Written after the show and posted here now...)

unlike izzy, its never been me....

and to think you were having that awesome experience and my buddy next to me for most of the show turns to me during The Weight and says,
"I finally took that hit. Shit's kickin in now!"
ooooooohhhhhhhh brother. What a night that was.

Itsnt it neat that we all have different stories that are all telling the same tale?

PS - That Cumberland was a modern day classic. .5 Step was not 1/2 bad either. !!
Cheers!
JG
“The Omnipotent Grateful Dead!”