 Oh, yeah. There's the Grateful Dead book. Here it is in person, and it's a slip case. It opens up useless. Then the book. So, we'll show you little bits of it here, and the question I had was, why? Because there are only about 155 books out on the Grateful Dead, so obviously there was a hankering and clambering for more. A need was out there. A void to be filled. But actually, there's never been this kind of a book on the Grateful Dead. It's known in the trade as either a scrapbook or a treasury, and the deal there is that every few pages you encounter an envelope or a fold-out or fold-in that you can pull material out of and enjoy and tack in your on your bulletin board or putting your wallet or smoke or whatever you want to do with it. The idea came from Becker and Meyer, a book packaging company up in Bellevue, Washington. They had made a deal with the Grateful Dead archives and had the idea and got the connection with the band who had donated their archives to the library, as you may know, at UC Santa Cruz. And so, they made the connection, and then what they needed was 25,000 words on the history of the band, and that's what they called me in, and they also asked for ten spotlights on songs that reflected different phases of dead history. So that's what they got. The result is a book that's different from pretty much anything that any dead fan has seen. It's all about artwork and memorabilia, and it includes things like early biographies of the Grateful Dead. There's one that's whimsical, written as if to goof a teen magazine, here's Phil Lesh saying about himself, born in a jail cell, the last of a line of at least three generations of horse thieves. And Jerry Garcia told the magazine, or told the world at large, I wake up automatically at nine every morning, except for sometimes when I wake up later or earlier. Typical dead humor. Other items in there, besides funny quotes, include things like a bumper sticker from their famous 1972 European tour, a postcard for Christmas for their fans sent out in 1986, a fans hand drawn set list for an entire year of dead concerts, the program for their famous concerts in Egypt, and a guest laminate from Egypt, a thank you note from Hugh Hefner. Apparently the Grateful Dead appeared on Playboy After Dark one time and the legend has it that they dosed Hugh with with acid. Maybe that's why he needs seven girlfriends at a time these days, I don't know. There are foldouts, sorry you, foldouts of posters including the announcement of the human being in January 1967, and also of photos including like a set of contact sheets on one of their photo shoots. Foldings include a Warner Brothers ad for Anthem of the Sun, the Grateful Dead Family Tree, and a hand bill of the Halloween week run in New York City's Radio City Music Hall, plus 16 backstage passes in an uncut page. The focus on artwork is natural, it's such a part of the Grateful Dead story and not just from poster artists and photographers who covered the band. I did several sidebars on dead heads and here is one of them. By the mid to late 1970s, the dead had a new generation of fans discovering them 10 or 15 years after they began. Concerts increasingly became communal events. Fans created their own dead art. They crafted clothing, flags and banners as well as elaborate drawings, poetry and essays that they sent to the dead offices in Marin County. While the dead were on hiatus through 1975, the fans kept in touch with the band and each other through the training of concert tapes and by way of a new magazine Dead Relics. Two tapers in Brooklyn started the publication which evolved into a magazine focused on various bands that began in the 60s or that carried on in the spirit of those times. In 1980, the dead still sent out newsletters to some 90,000 registered dead heads. I spoke at that time with David Gans about collecting dead tapes. He said he knew of one taper who had about a thousand hours worth. Gans claimed to be slowing down his own collection but he said there's always a new generation of dead heads. Jerry Garcia dug the new generation and said those fans seemed familiar. I think that even our younger fans are the same people as the last generation of dead heads. He said they're the seekers, the people who think there's more to it all than the regular rap. Mickey Hart was equally enthusiastic about dead heads. You're talking to one of the original dead heads, he told me, dead forever, forever dead. I asked Bill Kreitzman, the drummer, about fans whose lives are evolved around hitchhiking around with a backpack and a tape recorder. He fairly shouted his reply. I think they're damn lucky, he said. They're luckier than hell that they don't have to be tied down to a regular old nine to five shit job and get off on traveling with a pack and a u-er tape recorder. I think that's sweet as hell. At dead concerts, however, life wasn't always sweet, especially if a dead head didn't have a ticket. That's when creativity often came into play to save the day and night. I Need a Miracle, an R&B tune the dead had to appropriate it, became a cliché mantra on cardboard held up by those in need of a spare admission. More creative souls raise money to get into concerts or just to make money by selling goods ranging from edibles to paraphernalia for smokables, and of course arts and crafts. One devoted fan made leather bracelets that he sold for two or three dollars. When we met in Mountain View, California, he was catching his eighth dead show of the summer and had followed them through five states. Life was good, he said. You may have to sell something to get by, but you always just make it. Everybody makes it. You never really make a profit, but you do get by. Thank you very much.