I’ll Get Up And Fly Away

by thoughtsonthedead

pass wings

History lesson for the younger Enthusiasts (and older Enthusiasts who spent the ’80’s on tour and are kinda hazy on the major political themes of the era): early on in his Presidency, Reagan crushed the air traffic controllers, his rough soldiers and police descending into the air traffic controller’s village and taking the men into the woods, maybe a kilometer? A half? Something, pssh. And BANG. And BANG again and again and then is village of women and children and old men like me. Hoch-TOOee, I spit on Reagan: his face is my–how you say–your tushee is not clean and then it is clean? In my language, word is TushenFreschenMakker.

That derailed instantly, didn’t it?

Might have gotten off to someplace I didn’t plan, maybe, could be, sure.

C;mon, buddy:this is the place where you clumsily state your premise and accuse people of things.

There is a certain rhythm to these, huh?

Yeah, it’s like how the Dead went from the formless and at-times disjointed sets of ’72 to their later career’s adoption of a structure that, while a bit predictable, did in its own weird way conform to the basic three act structure that white folks like telling stories to each other in.

So, what you’re saying–and this is if I;m reading you right–is that I’m just as awesome, if not more, than the Dead?

Yes.

Thank you.  The point was that, along with the air-traffic control thing, there was also deregulation. Which meant any yahoo with a few hundred million could buy an airline, and everything went to hell. Prices dropped  and people who had no business at all spreading their genes around took to they sky with their possessions in a duct-taped garbage bag. They didn’t even have fedoras! Where is that man’s monocle? Harrumph!

(As usual, there are at least 42 sides to the story, chief among them the competing ideas that travel should be accessible to everyone versus the fact that people are awful, disgusting fartmontsters. )

Little airlines popped up around the country, and operating out of SFO was Grateful Airlines. The reason why it was not called Grateful Dead Airlines is because even Keith recognized that you shouldn’t have the word ‘dead’ in an airline’s name and he was in a mild coma at the meeting and not present at the meeting. Billy, on the other hand lobbied hard to include the word, arguing that “that’s some funny fucking shit right there, man,” and I kind of agree with Billy this time.

Bobby looked really good in the pilot’s outfit, although he insisted on hemming the slacks up to his testicles, which not only lessened the whole effect, but also was well out of regulations.

Garcia needed a job, of course, but since airplanes need airplane fuel, it was decided that the best place to put him was the control tower and our thoughts and prayers go out to the families involved in that unfortunate decision.

Mickey headed up the security desk and confiscated just a sheer fuck-ton of dope of all different sorts that anyone–just anyone–would know not to mix together, so Mickey mixed it together and when the cops asked him to please stop having sex with the luggage carousel, he got all belligerent because (and again I quote) “you couldn’t let me finish?” Once more, I kind of agree.