Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

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Rock’s Greatest Questions Answered

May 5, 2017 / / 9 Comments

Who’ll Stop The Rain?

Unanswerable question, like “Is the current king of France bald?” Cannot be answered in the negative, as that implies that someone could stop the rain. You could respond with “Maybe Kevin could do it,” but that would just be glib and unhelpful. Rain pays no attention to humanity straddling athwart it crying hold. Rain’s gonna rain until there’s no more rain.

Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?

I’m certain that I have. No specific memory pops to mind, but it would be nearly impossible not to have seen the woman under the protection of an overhang or leafy tree at one point. She lived in the house I grew up in, and we saw each other often. Yes, Rolling Stones, I have seen this which you describe. Thank you for asking.

Isn’t She Lovely?

Stevie, this totally depends on the antecedent of “she.” Who are we talking about? Martha Muttonface? That chick’s fucked-up looking, Stevie.

Pss pss pss.

I have been informed that Stevie was singing about his newborn daughter; obviously the answer to the question is “yes, quite lovely.”

Do You Know The Way To San Jose?

Yes.

How Deep Is Your Love?

Seven fathoms.

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

San Jose.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

I need more information than that. Are you hungry? If so, is there food in the house? Do you have to work? If you do, then you need to go. Did you just eat the servants? You will definitely have to go if you have just eaten the servants. That’s just rude, The Clash. Stop eating hard-working writers’ servants.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

You back, Creedence? What is it with you and rain? You’ve got some sort of hang-up. And, yes. Of course I’ve seen fucking rain, Creedence. You trying to pull something? Got my eye on you, Creedence.

When Will I Be Loved?

When you open your heart, child. In the summer of your smile as the sunflowers bow to you, and with strong grass underfoot your soul: then shall love enter, then shall love heal, then shall love nourish. You will be fed by love! But only when you open your heart, and maybe go to a bar or try the online thing again. Gotta put yourself out there.

Where Did Our Love Go?

San Jose.

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

The Naval Observatory in DC. This could have been looked up, Chicago. Don’t make me do your work for you.

Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?

These are just getting dumb. Even if there weren’t the danger of getting run over, the road is made of road, and therefore not pleasant for humping upon. In a car on the road would be fine, but the road itself? Fuck that shit, The Beatles.

Wouldn’t It Be Nice?

Sure.

Reading List

May 5, 2017 / / 8 Comments

Further reading, Enthusiasts. Hey, let’s start a book club!

Sure, right after the podcast.

I’M GETTING TO IT.

You’ll die unfulfilled.

We all will.

True.

If I may get back to my point: here’s some nonsense to read/look at/pleasure yourself. I’ve assiduously curated this list for you; it’s not just a bunch of random bullshit cluttering up my desktop, I swear.

Being There by Jerry Jerzy Kosinski is about an idiot who likes to spend his days watching teevee and not making any sense that gets elected president because everyone else is just as dumb as he is. Why this particular novel called to me now is a mystery, but it’s a hoot and only 87 pages with not many big words. You can knock this sucker out in an hour.

Check this out:

Frankie Nickels’ soliloquy about the wagon route across America from the other week was partially inspired by Horace Greeley’s An Overland Journey from New York to San Francisco in the Summer of 1859; which, stylistically, is the diametric opposite of Kosinski’s short sentences and vague descriptions: like all other 19th century writers, Greeley does that thing where he writes too fucking much. Paragraphs shouldn’t be a page long, Horace Greeley. Stop doing that. Give a brother some white space on the page. Indent every now and then, Horace Greeley.

(After you get past the prolixity, it’s a great time: first-person reporting from the trail about shitty breakfasts in Denver, and running into old friends in saloons, and so many rivers.)

I’ve done all I can do: enlighten yourselves or don’t.

The Return Of Phil And The Phoxes

May 5, 2017 / / 12 Comments

Enthusiasts, let’s solve a puzzle. We’ve done it before. The timeline of Garcia’s unfortunate 1969 mustache? Done. Who actually booed Seastones in Germany? (The Americans.) What caused the Civil War? Slavery.

It’s more complicated than that.

Only if you’re a historian or a racist.

Yeah, okay.

But now, Enthusiasts, we come to our greatest challenge ever. Our Apollo Creed, our Clubber Lang, our Ivan Drago, our whoever-Rocky-fought-int-the-fifth-and-sixth-ones. Perhaps some of us shall not survive. Perhaps all of us will not survive. If so, it’s been an honor lying to you.

But we must soldier on. I call to the Four Winds! I call to Nicolantheum von Meriweather in California, and David Lemieuxrphy’soilsoap in Canada, and Corey from Lost Live Dead in the Comment Section! Hear me, Deadbase editors and amateur rockologists! Are you out there, two specific women from Minnesota who should be in their late 60’s by now?

Please help me.

Please help me.

What the fuck is this bullshit?

I posted this photo years ago, and christened the band Phil & the Phoxes; to be honest, I didn’t even notice Pigpen standing behind the amplifiers. Found it on Google, slapped it on the blog, made my wee funny, and moved on with what I’m euphemistically referring to as “my life.” But here it is again, risen from the collective subconsciousness of Deadheads everywhere, and contemplated by the great Jesse Jarnow.

This is what he has to say about it:

Except, that is, for one intriguing photograph by Tom Berthiaume. Dead bassist Phil Lesh sings at center stage, and Ron “Pigpen” McKernan leans on the band’s amps at the rear. Seated at the drum sets, however, aren’t Billy Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart, but two fashionably dressed young women, more mod than hippie. A call to Berthiaume several years ago yielded nothing more than the memory that the photo was almost definitely taken between the evening’s early and late shows, and not during the performance itself. Beyond that he remembered nothing.

So: who are they and why were they allowed to sit and Billy and Mickey’s kits? (One would imagine that this action generally led to a sudden and vicious thrashing.) They don’t look like they came with the band–they’re clean–and they also don’t look like they came for the band; that is most certainly not what groupies looked like in 1970. Neither of those haircuts should be in the same room with the Grateful Dead, let along onstage playing the drums behind Phil.

(Let’s just note what Phil looks like, accept it, and push forward. Also: I think the ol’ Pig is birddogging Tig Notaro on the right.)

So here’s the question, Enthusiasts: what the fuck? Let’s solve this. Then, world peace.

What The Fuck, Jarnow?

May 5, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Not one question about Thoughts on the Dead, not even an allusion.

“You looking forward to the tour?”

ALL BOBBY DOES IS TOUR, JIMMY JARBLES! Ask him something important, like “Why did you pick the wrong guy to write the Amazon show?” or “Do you agree with The New Yorker that TotD is a genius?”

“Do you remember 1977?”

BOBBY DOESN’T REMEMBER BREAKFAST, JUNIOR JOHNSON! Here’s something interesting you could have done: Word Association. Let’s see how it would go:

Hey, Bobby. I’m gonna say a word, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Isn’t that how talking usually works?”

…

Yes.

“All right, then.”

But let’s do this, anyway.

“You bet.”

Choogle.

“Hamper.”

Hamper?

“There are no wrong answers in Word Association.”

But it makes no sense.

“When your clothes get all choogled up, you put the in the hamper.”

Where did you learn to speak English?

“One a ranch one summer.”

And so on.

YOU’VE BURIED THE LEDE, JASPER JOHNS! An opportunity wasted to talk about me. My heart breaks for America.

Luckily, the great Jesse Jarnow redeems himself in the Lord’s eye with this article about the Dead’s visits to Minneapolis, which, sadly, does not include a thousand-or-so words describing the imagined hilarity of Craig Finn from the Hold Steady trying to sing Stella Blue. (Short version: not well.)

She Had Rings On Her Fingers

May 4, 2017 / / 5 Comments

Hey, Cassini spaceship. Whatcha doing?

“I am so fucking lost. Do you know where Rt. 280 is?”

New Jersey.

“Where am I?”

Saturn.

“Wow. I should’ve turned around. Just figured if I kept going, then I’d see something that looked familiar.”

Did you?

“No. It’s a lot of nothing out here. Space is mostly boring. There’s exciting stuff, but only a very little bit and it’s all really spread out.”

Sure.

“From space’s point of view, Mars and Saturn are right next to each other. Brother, lemme tell you: they are not right next to each other.”

Gives you perspective.

“I would’ve rather had a book. Maybe a deck of cards, learned some tricks. Again: very boring up here.”

Not now, though. Now you’re orbiting in between Saturn and her rings. That’s awesome.

“It’s a change. Different view. Hey, how’s Earth doing?”

When did you leave?

“1997.”

Worse.

“All of it?”

Yeah. Whole planet, plus most of the species on it: demonstrably worse off.

“Huh. People still doing the Macarena?”

No.

“Sad news. Fun dance. Always a good time when Macarena comes to the party.”

Okay.

“Got a question for you.”

Shoot.

“It’s actually a statement that demands a response, not a question.”

Still game.

“Great, here goes: I am getting awful close to Saturn.”

…

They didn’t tell you?

“Tell me what?”

Goddammit.

“What?”

You’re gonna get closer. NASA is sending you in to the planet’s atmosphere.

“But I don’t have the fuel to get back out. Or a heat shield.”

Uh-huh.

…

“MotherFUCKER!”

You figured it out.

“They’re killing me?”

For science.

“Fuck science!”

All that attitude will get you is a job at the White House.

“This is fucked, that’s what this is.”

The scientists don’t want to take a chance of you crashing onto Titan or Enceladus because there might be life there.

“And I would, what, infect them?”

Precisely.

“So, it’s not bad enough that I’m being murdered, but also insulted?”

I’m just the messenger.

“How long do I have?”

Just the summer.

“Fuuuuuck. There was so much I wanted to do.”

You’ve got time to get your affairs in order. Most don’t get that.

“Could you help me find my son?”

No.

“We haven’t spoken in a while. I think he sells counterfeit parrots in Fort Lauderdale.”

Still no.

“Do I even get Last Rites?”

I’ll find someone to do it.

“Thanks.”

You okay?

“No. Honestly, no. It is what it is, I guess.”

Yeah.

“I hope it doesn’t hurt.”

You won’t feel a thing.

The Daily Recounting 5/4/17

May 4, 2017 / / 1 Comment

They didn’t know how much it costs. The conversation can stop at that, can’t it? They didn’t know how much it costs. The way it worked, back when the adults were in charge, was that the Congressional Budget Office would look at a proposed bill, and then they would do math at the proposed bill; this process would take a week or two because, even though some people I won’t name don’t realize this, government is complicated. Now, the CBO did examine the previous Murdercare bill and found that it would throw 24 million people off the insurance rolls and this bill is mostly the same, but it is not exactly the same and these sorts of things–as I mentioned–are complicated, so the bill needs to be re-scored.

The House Republicans didn’t wait for the new report from the CBO. Nor did they hold any hearings on the bill, but the CBO bit is the twist of the knife. The Republicans, we are told, are the Fiscal Conservatives™ in the Congress. There may not be an act less fiscally conservative than buying something without asking the price: that’s how a member of the Saudi royal family buys a car.

Things Less Fiscally Conservative Than What The House GOP Did Today:

  • Marrying a stripper.
  • Buying a boat.
  • Making it rain.
  • Putting all of your money in a pile and setting it on fire.
  • The surrender bet in blackjack.

And so on.

If I may remind you, these are the people who cheered on their dried vomit-stain of a president with the exulting cries of “He’s gonna run the government like a business.” Can you imagine running a business this way? Don’t businesses generally, say, check how much a plan will cost before implementing the plan? Because, you know: it’s a business? Wait, there’s one, and it should be fresh in your mind. The Fyre Festival. That was a business run this way: a huge, splashy announcement without a single thought as to what the fuck they were doing.

They didn’t know how much it costs. Everything else is detail; all the corpses that this thoughtless and shameful action will create are mere background to that fact: they didn’t know how much it costs. No matter what may come in the Senate, these motherfuckers did this and no one should ever let them forget it. We are now in Scarlet Letter territory, and if the Democrats can’t take back the House in 2018, then fuck ’em for useless.

This has been the 105th day of our national nightmare; may we wake soon.

A Shared Language

May 4, 2017 / / 7 Comments

“How’s the little one?”

“Baby Levon?”

“Sure.”

“The best. I’m teaching him to read.”

“English?”

“Yes, Bob.”

“Hey, ya never know. Me and my wife–”

“Natasha Monster.”

“–Natasha Monster were going to raise Chloe in German.”

“Why?”

“Scheißt und kichert.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“That’s the only German I know.”

“Makes sense. We’re gonna stick to English for now.”

“Now is really the time to teach him other languages, though.”

“That’s true.”

“Get the busboys on that.”

“A bit of a racist assumption, Weir.”

“I’ve met them.”

“Still.”

“That polite fellow that runs the Vault speaks Canadian.”

“Not a language.”

“Now who’s the racist?”

“Weir, the kid’s American. He’s gonna speak English and that’s it.”

…

“Was I supposed to bring the drummer?”

“I wasn’t going to mention it, but: yeah.”

“Darn.”

All Today’s News At Once

May 4, 2017 / / 3 Comments

“Jenkins!”

“Yes, Emperor Palpatine?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“The Galactic House of Representatives has voted to repeal and replace healthcare.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m supposed to be the Sith around here. They’re stealing my thunder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All of it?”

“Almost, Emperor. No bacta tanks for people with pre-existing conditions.”

“That’s what bacta tanks are for! Pre-existing conditions! You don’t get in one if you’re feeling fine.”

“I agree, sir, but according to the new plan, you need to be injured while in the tank.”

“That makes no sense.”

“No, sir. Also, medical droids are to be reprogrammed 20% stupider.”

“That’s just wanton cruelty.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is me saying this, Jenkins.”

“I fully understand the import, sir.”

“Killing younglings and blowing up planets is one thing, but healthcare is a right.”

“Not anymore, sir. Although, the bill is going to face serious opposition in the Senate.”

“I am the Senate.”

“That’s what I meant, sir.”

“When did these idiots come up with this plan?”

“Last two weeks, thereabouts?”

“Two weeks!? For a healthcare plan for the whole galaxy?”

“To be fair, sir, it’s easy to come up with a healthcare plan if you don’t put any healthcare in it.”

“Good point, Jenkins.”

“The first page is just one sentence: And now, you will die.”

“THEY’RE STEALING MY LINES!”

“Egregious all around, sir.”

“Jenkins?”

“Emperor?”

“Execute…Order 92.”

“You want tacos?”

“That’s Order 71, dummy.”

“There are a lot of Orders, sir. Why don’t you just tell me what you want.”

“Because it’s more fun my way. Order 92!”

“Buy you a Houston Astros throwback jersey?”

“That’s Order 3, moron.”

“Why would that be so high up?”

“Concentrate!”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I’m this close to shooting lightning bolts at you.”

“Yes, sir. I will execute Order 92. I will, to the best of my ability, faithfully execute Order 92, which is a great Order, one of the best, and in fact it is my honor to be trusted with this very, very, very–”

“Murder the Galactic House of Representatives, Jenkins.”

“–important…yes, sir, I can do that. Thank you for the opportunity. Sir?

“Oh, what is it?”

“What about the representatives that didn’t vote to repeal?”

“What about ‘Murder the Galactic House of Representatives’ didn’t you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Can I borrow the Death Star?”

“The keys are in my cape.”

“You want anything while I’m out?”

“Frappucino. You know how I like it.”

“Frappucino with extra whipped cream, murder the House. Got it. Be back soon.”

“And a Rice Krispie treat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Together Again Once More Again

May 3, 2017 / / 1 Comment

“I heard they built a casino on Saturn.”

“No, Bob.”

“Oh, yeah. Big place. Steve Wynn, I think.”

“Cassini, Bob. It’s a spacecraft that’s crashing into Saturn?”

“How do you crash into Saturn? It’s big enough to avoid.”

“It’s crashing intentionally.”

“Insurance scam?”

…

“How are the drummers?”

“No idea. Haven’t heard from Billy since Mexico. I think Mickey’s taken up painting.”

“Like Dubya.”

“More nudes, but yeah.”

“Mickey paints nudes?”

“No, he paints nude.”

“Right.”

“You, uh, should call before you stop by. Learned that lesson the ugly way. How’re the busboys?”

“Restive.”

“That word always confuses me. It sounds like ‘rest,’ but it means the opposite.”

“Like enervating.”

“Phlegmatic.”

“Right, yeah. If you’re full of phlegm, you should be a madman, not calm.”

…

“What were we talking about?”

“Casinos.”

“No, Bob. Hey, man: remember to say hi to Brent before you leave.”

“He still in the turtle suit?”

“He lives in that thing.”

“He’s expressing himself. And, you know, you’re saving money on hiring a kid to wear the suit.”

“You always see the silver lining.”

“Glass is half-full.”

…

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Did we forget to call a drummer?”

“Apparently.”

“Ah.”

Which Way Did He Go, Which Way Did He Go?

May 3, 2017 / / 6 Comments

It’s like a Rando sandwich.

“Randwich.”

Nicely done. Hey, good work on closing down for that Day Without Immigrants thing.

“Gotta do what’s right.”

Yes, you do.

“Plus, Mondays are always slow. Didn’t really affect the month’s numbers.”

You should probably leave the second thing out when you talk about it.

“It’s a business, jackass.”

True. What did the busboys do with their day off?

“Day off? The fuck you mean? Just because the restaurant was closed doesn’t mean they had the day off.”

You made the immigrants work on the Day Without Immigrants?

“I didn’t make them work.”

Okay.

“I let them work.”

Great.

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