Advice for Phishheads in Withdrawal (from a Deadhead who's been there before)

(originally appeared in Uber)

Say it ain't so, Trey! Is it really over? Never another Phish show, ever? What now? What on earth will we do with our lives?

I dig your pain, brother. I remember all too well the shock of 8-9-95, when Captain Trips boarded that last train from Terrapin Station. We were lost, confused, angry--why did it have to be Jerry? If it had been just another keyboard player, or one of the drummers, or even Bob Weir, maybe we could have kept it going ... instead, we were left stranded at the side of the road, trapped in a bummer we couldn't shake off.

In the years that followed, something called The Dead gradually coalesced and began a tour of its own, but that's no better than scraping the bowl when the kind bud is gone--a lot of work for a headache that lasts longer than the buzz. Meanwhile, some of my former bus-mates made the switch to Phish, ironically enough--what are they supposed to do now that that's turned out to be a dead end as well? The String Cheese Incident? Dave Matthews? I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.

Eventually, many of the old Heads just gave up entirely, getting real jobs and taking normal vacations and building up equity in spacious suburban homes--it grieves me still to think of it.

Don't make the same mistakes so many Deadheads did. What you need now is a path you can follow for the rest of your days and beyond--something bigger than any one musician or band, transcending even death itself. Sacrilege, you say? Far from it. The gospel truth.

What if I told you there was a way you could continue your Phishhead lifestyle almost as if nothing had changed at all? Close your eyes and think of it (open them long enough to read the rest of this paragraph first). Traveling to remote places and camping under the stars with your fellow believes for days, even weeks at a time. Preparing your meals over an open flame and bartering with your neighbors in a homegrown economy where dollars are unknown. Communicating in an arcane vocabulary understandable only by the initiated. Coming together with the rest of the community at the feet of a bearded guru to hear of mystical visions and touch the hem of paradise.

Not incidentally, what if this would all be happening in the fertile cradle of the world's most potent drug production? No, not Humboldt ... not Maui ... I'm talking about Afghanistan.

Wait a minute, hear me out--don't freak out on me yet, bro. It's not that big a leap. What is Islam but the Gamehendge cycle without the melodies? The evil Wilson--he's just the ultimate infidel. Sure, the taping policy is a little more restrictive, and you won't want to get caught taking any photographs, but when was the last time you saw 72 brown-eyed virgins at a Phish show? I thought so. And when you get right down to it, it's still about sharing the experience with the people you love. Don't let the end of Phish spell the end of your crew--bring 'em along and make the tour last forever.

I'm not going to say there won't be sacrifices involved. You'll have say goodbye to that SUV with the Wesleyan sticker in the window; it's got an important mission to perform, stoked to the gills with truly explosive nugs. Your parents won't understand, nor your straight friends or any kids you might have, but that's nothing new. And there won't be any more hugs from the Phunky Bitches; in fact, if they so much as reveal an ankle or a nose, they'll get stoned in a hurry--and not the good way.

It'll take some getting used to, sure. But at the end of the day, your most cherished dream is the same as it's always been: the demise of the Bush Administration.