Cats Rock Under The Stars

This was the other night, Sunday night, the night after Dodger Stadium; this is not Dodger Stadium, as no Mexican-American neighborhoods were razed to build it. No one at all lived here before the Whites. There used to be monsters in the Hollywood Hills, but since Lohs AN-halays became Loss Anj’liss, there are now mansions. Rich people love living in the Hollywood Hills because rich people listened to the same Eagles records that you did as a teen.

And if you’re rich enough–and talent manager Keith Addis, whose backyard this is, apparently is–you can hire the Grateful Dead (Or What’s Left Of ‘Em) to play your house party.

(TotD, you’re saying, it was a charity event. The band didn’t get paid. And I rip the skin from your body and use it to sew myself a toppermost. The band got paid. If Bobby had shown up with his acoustic and a stool and Matt Busch? Then maybe it’s charity. But when Billy shows up, it means a check has been cut. I’m gonna guess they were issued their normal show fees on paper and donated ’em right back for the tax benefit.

And you say, That doesn’t sound like a plan a Grateful Dead would come up with. I, astounded that you’re still alive without your skin, answer thusly: Of course the band didn’t think it up. Their manager did. That’s why managers are rich enough to live in the Hollywood Hills and hire the Dead to play in their backyards. Trust me: there was tomfoolery.)

A million dollars was raised, though, and that is a good thing. The oceans need our help, and we can accomplish this task: fixing a complex system is surely as easy as breaking one. Most of the million smackers will go to awareness. Many people are not aware of the oceans.

“Oceans? I’m saying that right? Oceans?”

“Perfect.”

“And there’s more than one?”

“Kinda. Sorta. For human purposes, it makes it easier to think there’s four or maybe five. But there’s really just one big one. Don’t worry about that. Not the important point.”

“How big are they?”

“Fucking enormous.”

“Could I throw a rock across one?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I was incredibly good at throwing rocks?”

“Still no.”

“Bigger than the lake?”

“Puts the lake to shame.”

“What about the mountains?”

“Dude, there are mountains in the ocean.”

“Good gravy. What’s it like?”

“The ocean?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you know the land?”

“Like, dirt and trees and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I know the land.”

“Opposite of that. Ocean is the opposite of the land.”

“How so?”

“Can’t stand on it.”

“Go on.”

“Try to plant crops in it, and the crops just sink.”

“That is very unlike what happens upon the land.”

“In every way. Also: how salty are you right now?”

“Not salty at all.”

“Ocean? Salty as hell, brother. It’s halfway to brine.”

And so on.

The million dollars raised will also go to Democratic candidates, all of whom promise to maintain a shining record of voting to destroy the environmental just a liiiiitle bit slower than the Republicans. (And civil rights, once they’re absolutely forced to.)

A negligible amount of the cash will go to tipping out the bartenders, waitstaff, and valets.

No proceeds will purchase explosives and a list of the top ten polluting factories in the country. Which is a shame.