us:. There are a lot of Brazilians here, huh?

_______:. People always say that, but… we come from a place where there are way more!

us:. True, so… were you one of those crying Brazilians on the internet?

Sunday night was pretty damn WEIRd to say the least. After underestimating the potency of the mint chocolate chip ice cream I purchased from OBWC (along with an eighth of some GSC), I believed there was still a chance to smoke one with Bobby. Yes, even after bluntly and awkwardly asking Bill Walton how hard it would be to accomplish such a task. Let me first say that this story does not have a happy ending, but only because it's not over.. you hear that Bobby?! This isn't over!

Back to last night.. When I was in front of a legend that I really know nothing about. First show ever. Bob Weir and Ratdog. You'd think it wouldn't be too intimidating since I was never one of those youngins lucky enough to grow up with deadhead parents dragging me across the country selling beer out of the back of their van to make it to the next lot. Right? Wrong. Maybe it's the ice cream, or maybe it's the phase of the moon, or maybe their presence combined with incomparable talent really is that overwhelming… but, what it came down to is me deep breathing and fighting back tears all while trying to get a photo encapsulating sacred, historical, love.

That's when the epiphany came. Ever since going to Costa Rica, missing my finals because of it, and soon after making that fateful decision to not go back to school and allow myself to travel and blow all of my "rainy day"savings I had so diligently procured into a place which became non existent as soon as I could pretend, it began.  Another world was discovered.  A world where my off the beaten path turned out to really be the 1 hwy minus the whole school bus part.  I wasn't crazy or even remotely alone. These incredible light warriors flooding my path who so graciously passed on their knowledge, stories, and words of immeasurable encouragement had one thing in common. The Dead. The Grateful fkn Dead.

So here it is, I did know these guys. Hell I probably know them better than my own family. Their waves were the vibrations that have indirectly guided me through life and there I was standing directly in front of them getting smacked in the face with music that effortlessly transformed from the feel of country to bluegrass to blues to rock into the roll to psychedelic to God knows what but it made me feel great, relieved almost. Relieved in the sense that you are about to spend the weekend with your extremely successful distant family that invented Teflon and once you get there they are all sitting around a game of poker telling embarrassing stories of each other… like people do. Because there is one thing you get other than incredible music when you go to a show like this. Absolution. We're all just humans that do stupid shit sometimes and that's okay because beautiful things can come of it too… Even when Steve Kimock starts a guitar solo right when you thought the floor was yours. That's just the jam… and it's really more about the experience than anything.

And here is the spider that made me feel just a little bit less uncomfortably high. Like, hey man, we're in this together… at our first Bob Weir and Ratdog show. 

7.6.14 Humphrey's San Diego Setlist:

Set One: Jack Straw, Queen Jane Approximately, She Says, Bird Song > Cassidy

Set Two: Me & My Uncle@, Mexicali Blues@, Truckin' > Tomorrow Never Knows > Two Djinn > Stuff > Death Don't Have No Mercy > Samson & Delilah