Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Happy Father’s Day, Garcia.
“Shh.”
Sorry.
“Just got her to sleep.”
What’s the point of a baby sleeping if you can’t Instagram it?
“What?”
Nothing. That’s Heather, right?
“Yeah.”
Pretty name.
“Pretty girl. I like girls. Some guys wanna have boys, but I like girls.”
That is good to hear.
“Why?”
…
“Good God, what is that?”
Your family.
“Just one?”
Couple of ’em.
“I gotta get some gigs, man.”
Happy Father’s Day.
“Sure, yeah.”
Happy Father’s Day, Trump.
“Wow, that one’s not funny any more.”
…
Yeah, I apologize.
“It’s just–”
I totally get it. Wrong of me.
“Cool. One other thing.”
Sure. Cute kids, by the way.
“Thanks. Um…why am I included in this?”
Because at 41% of the Dead shows I attended, you were the Garcia. So, you know: you’re in.
“Forever?”
…
I gotta say that John Mayer is a lot easier to work with.
“So go bother him.”
Actually: you wanna see something funny?
“Quickly, but yeah.”
Okay. Trey, have you heard about the new Greubel Forsey Double Tourbillon 30° Technique?
It’s cut from a single sapphire crystal and contains no metal except for the winding pin, and retails for $1.3 million.
“Why would I care about that ridiculous piece of sh–”
“GIVE IT TO ME.”
See?
“John?”
“Oh, hey, Trey. Cute kids. Tell me more about the watch.”
“Does he always do this?”
Yeah. It’s like saying “Beetlejuice” three times.
Happy Father’s Day, Bobby.
“Yeah, thanks. Good day.”
This is adorable. Is it Halloween?
“No, no. She’s four. Four-year-olds live in perpetual Halloween.”
Not a bad way to do things.
“Sure, but people would run out of candy pretty quick.”
…
Happy Father’s Day, Bobby.
“Back atcha.”
Happy FathHOLY SHIT, LOOK AT THOSE TWO.
“Made me some good-looking boys.”
Nice work, Bruce. Jesus, how big are they?
“Together, it’s around 17 feet and half-a-ton of Hornsby.”
That’s why you tour so much. You had to feed these behemoths.
“You got no idea, man. It’s like owning an elephant.”
Happy Father’s Day, Mickey.
“Thanks. Look, it’s my daughter.”
Yeah. She get you anything?
“A drum!”
You’re easy to shop for.
“I think that’s a good thing.”
I wasn’t making fun.
Happy Father’s Day, Phil.
“Look at my boys!”
They are handsome and strong.
“Did something right.”
Sure did.
Your opinion on Dead & Company doesn’t matter, and neither does mine, and nor does anyone’s, and that goes for all the bands and all the singers and all the songs. Make your lists and organize your collection and write your reviews and it will not move the universe’s needle.
Her opinion matters, and she gave it.
God bless the Grateful Dead, or what’s left of it. God bless what’s left of us all.
“I don’t know if the speech went well.”
“it was great, Bob. Everyone really enjoyed it, except for the people who got burned when your giant robot amplifier caught fire. And the people that Elvis kicked.”
“Well, there I don’t know if I agree: folks seemed awful excited for Elvis to do karate on them.”
“Either way, it was only a couple of people. And I can’t thank you enough for bringing us down to Creepy Ernie’s for shorts.”
“You fellows bought in bulk, and Ernie appreciates that.”
“Why did he make us all shower before trying the shorts on?”
“To film you naked.”
“That’s what we all figured, yeah.”
“Does Ernie have any shorts left?”
“No, we bought all the shorts.”
“Yup. Again, I apologize. You know, for all the weirdness. It’s, uh, just symptomatic of greater maladies.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There ya go. I got another story about Les Paul if we’ve got time. During the rainy season, Machu Picchu is home to guitarists and mercenaries; Les Paul was both. He was drinking gin in a bar when–
Hello.
Here we are.
We’ve always been here.
Hungry.
SHMOCHSHMOCHSHMOCH
NARFNARFNARF
…
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”
“Dancing bears ate the guy in the baseball cap.”
“Which one?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Where’d they go!?”
“They’re still here. They’re always here.”
…
“Anyway, I got my tour bus back from Soup and that’s where I’m going. Thanks for the award. Sorry about the guy who got eaten, and the ones who got burned, and the ones who got kicked. Namaste.”
“You’re just gonna go?”
“Do you want an autograph?”
“Just go.”
You were screwing around with that Time Sheath again, weren’t you?
“I know how it works. We’ve had that thing forever.”
You’ve had a time machine forever from the first second you own a time machine.
“You know what I mean. I think the Apple Watch freaked it out.”
Warned you about those things. The Devil’s bracelets.
“Uh-huh.”
Tell me what’s happening. Is this a clone thing?
“Reality fritz-type deal.”
Like Bobby’s rando glitch. I got it. What were you doing with the Time Sheath?
“Wanted to see Athens at its height.”
How was it?
“Full of shit and disease, just like every other city in the past.”
I don’t know why you keep to visit.
“You just have to get used to the smell and not touch anything or anyone.”
Like the DMV.
“Sure.”
You want me to call Precarious?
“He was always the go-to guy for stuff like this. Just don’t tell Robbie Taylor.”
Jealous?
“Yeah.”
Aw.
“Hey, Heavy Cheddar. Nice to meet you.”
“Close enough, I guess.”
“Heard you beat up Josh.”
“No, no. John. I beat up John.”
“Who’s John?”
…
“Yeah, I beat up Josh.”
“That’s great. We’re not allowed to, so thanks.”
“Wait, what?”
“It’s in the contracts. Smart clause, actually.”
“Did the Dead fight a lot?”
“Oh, all bands fight, but we used to strike each other with our fists, or improvised melee weapons. There was also some choking.”
“Jesus, Mick: you guys used to strangle each other?”
“Try to. Never to completion.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Legally it does.”
“Okay, I gotta give you that.”
“Your band doesn’t do any of this? Never had a keyboardist and a backup singer try to murder each other with luxury cars?”
“We don’t have either of those–”
“You kids today got it easy. Problem comes up and you discuss it? Try to work things out reasonably? We couldn’t do that. We had to throw cooked turkeys at concert promoters and have intra-rhythm section knife fights.”
…
“You didn’t have to do any of that, Mick.”
“No. But, God, it was fun.”
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