Charlie Bertsch (cbertsch) wrote,
Charlie Bertsch
cbertsch

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Dare I Say It?

Last night during our becoming-a-tradition shooting of the shit at the Hotel Congress -- its Cup Café, if you want to be precise about it -- Eric and I stumbled into a discussion of the Grateful Dead song "Box of Rain." He praised its ending. I defended the rest of it. "What's great about it is that it never resolves." This morning, the afterglow of yesterday's good times inspired me to put on the album that song starts off, American Beauty.

I'm not sure what it will do to my reputation to admit this -- I've already admitted it here once before, though a long time ago -- but I like a good deal of the Dead aesthetic. I always kind of dug the impromptu fairs that would spring up outside the halls where they were playing. I had fun when I saw them in concert, My First Time involved eating Oreos, seeing a green cloud, being sure that my companion would never return from the restroom, and then walking through what seemed like miles of landfill dust on the way back to his yellow Nova. And yet I still recall it fondly and have had a soft spot for the Dead concert vibe ever since.

I'm not sure I'd want to Go There now, given my advanced age, but I can still listen to American Beauty or Workingman's Dead and imagine myself wandering through a Humboldt-softened morning in Garberville, with nothing to do but feel the sun and look for coffee and colorful knick-knacks. Yes, underneath it all I'm something of a "lite" hippie in my sensibility. In the end, I want my steel roses to be stamped with tiny holes in a paisley pattern. That way I can hold them up to the light and say, "Trippy!" from time to time, while still preserving the possibility of accidentally wounding myself in the process. I'm no hunk, so you might as well call me "puppy."
Tags: autobiography, humor, music
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