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Friday, July 21

Read the three wildcard entries below and head to the Parking Lot to Vote

The Three Wildcard entries for the Last Spot to join the staff of Grateful Music will be up to you. Just join the Parking Lot, I will have a Post Titled Wildcard. Join and simply write your vote. You can only vote once and it ends Sunday at 10:00 central. The staff can vote.


The First one is Matt Portor 

What does it mean to me? There is a truth and a beauty that flows through the music and each onr of us. An energy that surrounds and binds us and is that which I tap into. What it means to me is connection, peace, Harmony, and love. Tapes, shows, friends all become one. I lost and found myself in the music of the Grateful Dead. Something greater than myself filled and saved my soul. No matter what happens each day, the music never stops. 

Gratefully Warf Rat,

Matt Porter 
 
The Second Wildcard is By Brett Stanaway

The Grateful Dead is religion. In good mes and bad, I rely on the music to guide me. I started seeking out the jam scene in my late teen years with a foundaon of the Grateful Dead to inspire me. I rejoiced in the commonality, engaging in the sense of community, and witnessing, what I felt, was right.The music is a way to connect with people. We, as the grateful people, share a unity, even as strangers, we know each other, we accept each other, and we speak a common language. Walking into someone’s home for the "rst me seeing Grateful Dead memorabilia hanging on walls, si#ng on the co$ee table, "lling the air, I become so much more comfortable knowing that we share something of great importance to our lives. It feels a li%le more like home, even with a mere acquaintance, that is soon to be friend.I introduced my wife to the scene, we had only been dang a short me, I was nervous it would be too much. She looked at me with wide open eyes and said, “I get it, I understand.” At that point I knew, she was going to walk this road of life with me. When we got home and went back undercover, wearing the shirt and e, working the 8-5, she texted me, “I feel like I know a little secret.” Yes honey, yes we do. 

The Third and Last is Bent My Ear

First show, First Miracle

My first Dead show. Brendan Byrne, Spring tour '88. Four friends, yet to be licensed, saved for a charter bus package. Being spring, I layered in a long sleeve with pocket. In that pocket I placed my ticket. What a ride. So much so that I mindlessly abandoned my shirt to the overhead upon arrival. Off the bus, taking in the sights, we reached for our tickets. A toast of sorts. My mistake became evident as the bus headed out of sight to points unknown.

 

Someone nearby overheard, stopped the next car, and explained the situation. Their reply, "Hop on in, kid!". An unbelievable offering of kindness. An hour later and an hour to the show, the bus remained elusive. I offered what I had to give but they wouldn’t accept. I took what I had and started to walk the lot. Finger raised high. 

 

With the first set started, I eventually meandered up to the arena. Chatting with another outsider, a man approached. He stated to follow him if we wanted to see the show. He walked us to a gate, talked to a guard, and we walked inside as Brent belted out "Hey Pocky Way".