when i was a kid i thought the grateful dead and iron maiden were related, both had skulls and were scary, i never listened to their music for fear, of what, i didn’t exactly know, freshman year touch of grey came out and the seniors were all about it, with their bandanas and tie dye t-shirts, i learned not to be afraid of their music, but i still never listened to the dead, ever, until college rolled around and they became unavoidable, every boarding school wannabe quasi-hippie trustafarian played the dead in their dorm room, and i still mostly hated their music, except for eyes of the world, friends tried to get me to attend concerts, but i always politely declined, there were enough burned out patchouli-smelling colby students without spending hours in a parking lot hoping for a “miracle,” so when i graduated i was glad to be rid of jerry and his band, a couple months went by and jerry died, a year later i’m living in california, my cousin is sharing an apartment with a mortician in kentfield (marin county), i’m at their place one day, dude proudly opens a drawer, finger and toenails are inside, those are jerry’s, he beams, i will never understand the obsession.