Thoughts On The Dead

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

Page 572 of 1031

For The Benefit Of Ms. Baez

bobby joan baez AIDS

“Members of the press, Joan Baez’s scarf, various microphones, janitor who wandered in and began eating the donuts only to be shrieked at by Joan Baez, Otis: welcome.

“First of all: these mics are unprofessional as hell. When the Dead does a show, we all have the same kind of mic. It just makes for a better presentation, and the Dead’s all about presentation.

“I’m happy to be part of this benefit with Joan Baez & Friends. Mickey is doing a show under the name Joan Baez & Friends With Benefits, but I don’t know what night that is.

“Me and Garcia are gonna play some acoustic numbers. You know: casual. And, uh. we played rock-paper-scissor to see whose bass player to use, and Garcia won, so John Kahn’ll be there. Joan’s gonna come up and do a tune or two with us, because it’s in the contract. Fun night.

“AIDS isn’t fun, though. I hope no one thinks that. There are some aids that are great–hearing, marital–but you capitalize that sucker and, you know: boom. Everyone’s worse off. It’s ironic that something named AIDS is so unhelpful.

“And if I can digress for a second: it’s a little odd that no one’s complimented me on my chest hair. A little odd. All I’m saying.”

Wrap it up, Bobby.

“Go Niners.”

Good speech.

Mickey Connects With The Youths

[PDF] Skrillex and Mickey Hart

Aw, c’mon, Mickey.

“Guess who’s in the Grateful Dead now?”

I don’t want to.

“Scribbles!”

That’s not his name.

“Skankmaster Sex?”

That’s not anyone’s name.

“The Teflon Diphthong?”

That’s not even English, man.

“Whatever his dopey name is: he’s a Grateful Dead. He promised to retweet me.”

That won’t end well. Have you run this by anyone?

“Billy doesn’t give a fuck.”

You asked him?

“Just assuming.”

But Is It Art?

jerry john kahn headstock donna

From Garcia’s pinky, down; between his hand and John Kahn’s headstock; his face, up: the rule of thirds.

John Kahn, Mrs. Donna Jean, and Garcia are certainly not as close as they seem to one another: foreshortening.

The brilliant white glow of the headstock and Garcia’s forehead against the ink-black background: chiaroscuro.

The arm, the bass neck, and Wolf: balance.

Your eye starts on the “Fender” and the tunings pegs, then travels upward–clockwise–to Garcia’s face, continuing down Mrs. Donna Jean’s arm to Wolf and then up Garcia’s forearm: the Fibonacci spiral.

This is Renaissance art.

Things Bobby Might Be Yelling

bobby yelling open mouth

  • Haaaa-AAAAAAAAAAAA-yobble.
  • The REEEEEEAL issue is MEEEEEENtal health, YEAH!
  • I’m telling you guys, it’s real. I can hear it. You know that fillings pick up radio stations sometimes. It was on I Love Lucy. Listen when I open my mouth really wide. ‘HEY, THIS IS WOLFMAN JACK!’ Did you hear that!?
  • FLUMPF!
  • HONG KONG PHOOEY CAN’T MELT STEEL BEAMS!
  • GlumperdumpWOO!

Volution, Happy To Get A Lay

SEXUAL REVOLUTION A nebulously-dated period that may or may not still be going on characterized by women taking control of both their sexuality and reproduction, and a general relaxing of societal mores towards, and legal repercussions from, sexual expression.

SEXUAL EVOLUTION Men grow extra dicks on their shoulders so they can hump in a crowded subway car. Breasts become USB 3.0-compatible. Human buttholes split into two orifices: one for business, one for fun.

SEXUAL DEVOLUTION Civilization is reduced to people wandering around while pointing at their exposed genitals and screaming, “MOUTH TIME!”

SEXUAL AMIR BAR-LEVOLUTION Started off as a quickie and lasted four days.

SEXUAL MALEVOLUTION Shit gets dark. Knife-dicks are the least worst thing about the Sexual Malevolution.

SEXUAL TEVALUTION Everyone is required to wear Teva sandals while having sex, and people just stop doing it; humanity dies within a generation.

SEXUAL KEVOLUTION If you see Kevin McHale, you have to fuck him.

The Internet Police, They Live Inside Of My Mac

Internet-police

Maybe you should get a proxy if you’re gonna keep torrenting movies.

I didn’t think they’d notice.

Was it one of those dopey superhero movies?

Yeah.

A Marvel movie?

Yeah.

Marvel that’s owned by Disney?

Yeah.

You thought Disney wasn’t paying attention?

It was a holiday weekend. I figured their lawyers were barbecuing.

Disney’s lawyers can barbecue and sue people at the same time. Get smarter, please.

Yeah.

What’d you watch?

The Ant-Man movie with Paul Rudd.

How was it?

If you’ve ever seen a movie before, you know every beat of the film within the first 30 seconds. Possibly the most predictable story I’ve ever seen. You know those 60’s spy spoofs like In Like Flynn and those Matt Helms films with Dean Martin, and how they’re played so straight that you can’t tell they’re comedies 40 years on?

Okay.

Ant-Man is like that. It’s essentially a parody of the superhero plot, but played perfectly straight. There’s the missing wife, and the ragtag team, and the daddy issues, and the villain wearing the evil version of the hero’s suit, and the kid in peril. Plus, there’s the bit where the mentor tells the hero, “Don’t do this thing, or the universe will explode,” and you know that during the final fight, the hero will have to do that thing.

Cross the streams.

Right. Here, it’s “going sub-molecular,” whatever the hell that means.

How was Paul Rudd?

He was Paul Rudd.

Good review.

Well, Siskel and Ebert are gone; someone has to fill the gap.

The Neverending Story Ever Told

Amir

Hey, Amir Bar-Lev, director of–

“Hi, there! How are you? Hi. I’m fine. Hi. Hi! Hi.”

–the upcoming…hey, buddy.

“Got my second wind!”

Why do you need a second wind?

“Been up for four days editing.”

You’ve been editing the film for four days straight?

“Not the film. A scene.”

You’ve been editing one scene for four days?

“It’s an important one.”

What is it?

“Closing credits.”

They just scroll upwards, man.

“BUT HOW FAST?”

You need a nap, Bar-bar?

“I couldn’t sleep now even if I wanted to. I can see through my eyelids. And also the back of my skull. I have achieved omnivision. Perhaps jumbovision.”

How long is the movie–

“FILM!”

–now?

“It’s not short.”

Right. How long is it?

“Are we including the comic book tie-ins?”

No.

“There are comic book tie-ins now.”

I inferred that. How long?

“A little over four months.”

How much over?

“Two months over.”

So, six months long?

“If you want to be pedantic about it.”

Solid six months, or installments stretched out over six months?

“The first thing. 4,382.91 hours.”

Wow.

“There’s an three-week intermission.”

I think you’re overshooting the moon on this one, pal.

“Children will be conceived, gestated, born, weaned, whelped, educated, broken, and buried during my film.”

That’s longer than six months.

“What about rats?”

Oh, you could get ten or twenty generations of rats in that time.

“And then I shall lead the rats.”

Amir, please go to sleep.

“How can I sleep now that I am so woke?”

Are you taking pills?

“Not pills.”

Aaaaand I’m not going to ask any follow-up questions.

“My only fear is the economic turmoil my film will cause.”

How so.

“There will be no point in making another movie after mine. All the woods would shut down: Hollywood, Bollywood, Polleywood.”

Polleywood?

“That’s the Canadian film industry. Sarah Polley is a god up there.”

I enjoy her work.

“She rules with an iron hockey glove.”

Amir Bar-Lev, you’re making very little sense.

“Stop saying my full name over and over to make this page show up higher on Google.”

Okay, you’re making some sense.

“My movie will not be mocked! Believe in my vision!”

What is your vision?

“Well, I’m a director, so my vision generally includes my hands in front of my face doing that “L” thing.”

The frame.

“The frame.”

That’s a great move.

“Like, half the reason to be a director is that move. You stand on a location and you do The Frame, then you maybe mutter some director bullshit and make big sweeping motions with your arms.”

That’s awesome.

“It’s cool. Old days were better.”

Dunno about that. We have a pretty firm “the past was terrible policy” around here.

“You got to wear jodhpurs and yell at actors through a megaphone.”

Yeah, okay. Score one for the old days.

“You’re not supposed to yell at people any more.”

That’s a better system.

“I yelled at a guy outside the window this morning for two hours. He was a tree, it turns out.”

You need to sleep.

“I need to work.”

You need to sleep!

“I need to work!”

Duck season!

“Rabbit season!”

KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!

I got him to do it.

“I don’t understand who’s speaking.”

Don’t worry about it.

“Is he friend or foe?”

Just go to sleep.

Go to sleep.

Go to sleep.

Go to sleep.

Duck season.

Rabbit seaMOTHERFUCKER!

SHPLOIK

whuff whuff whuff whuff

whuffwhuff whKAHBLAMMO

Did you just stick the needle of a bicycle pump into your belly and inflate yourself until you exploded?

I did.

“Could someone explain to me what’s happening?”

No.

Go to sleep.

Go to sleep.

Stop it.

Head(phone)s: A Biography Of Technological South Florida

I’m going to let you two try one more time to tell the nice people about the headphones. You need to give your opinion in a straightforward and understandable way, discuss the pros and cons of the item, and end with a recommendation on whether folks should buy it.

If they’re going to buy it, they should do it from this link.

Please don’t do that.

Don’t stifle capitalism, pinko.

I hate you, too. Just do this like normal humans.

Fine.

Sure. Tell us about the headphones.

They’re Sony headphones and they’re nifty.

What are the specs?

Do you not read this site? I just told everyone the specs.

Did you? I like to save your posts for the next day and read them in a big bunch.

You post a lot.

I can’t work like this. I’m going to my imaginary trailer.

CLOMP

CLOMP

CLOMP

TRAILERDOORSLAM!

A professional shows up prepared, Gordon.

I tried. There’s like a dozen posts a day, every day.

It’s called being prolific.

It’s called being graphomaniacal and lonely.

Six of one.

You going to get him?

Ugh.

CLOMP

CLOMP

CLOMP

TRAILERDOORKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

I’m not coming out. How dare he not read my precious words? So precious.

Yes, you’re Stravinsky.

Stravinsky? Stravinsky was a composer.

He wrote music.

But you wouldn’t call him a “writer,” you would call him a “composer.”

The notes need to be written down. He thought them up and put them on paper: that’s writing.

Composing.

Writing.

Composing!

Writing!

Duck season!

Rabbit sea–

I’m not playing this game with you.

You almost did.

Do you want to participate in the FAQ?

They sound really good, but my left ear hurts a little. The cord is curly like Brian May’s guitar lead, and I like that. There is also a pouch.

Then I guess we’re done.

Yup.

Hey! Am I still getting paid?

You were never getting paid.

Aw.

In My Head

In the spirit of my recent diatribes about cassettes and their various players, and in honor of my brand-new Sony MDR-7506‘s, I was going to do a similar post about the history of headphones; I got maybe halfway through Googling it when I stopped caring and decided I couldn’t inflict that on you. There are certainly some who care an inordinate deal about headphones, but I have not even a surface curiosity. There’s the ones you put in your ear, and the big ones that sound good, and the shitty little ones you get on the plane.

But: someone mentioned that they were in the market for a new pair of headphones, so in the spirit of public interest, I will present my initial thoughts in the semi-popular FAQ format.

Am I back in the band?

No. This is a guest spot.

Aw.

Get on with it.

You suck. Fine: How is the Sony MDR-7506?

“Are.” How are the–

Please don’t correct my grammar. I was referring to the pair of headphones.

Not with that wording you weren’t, mister.

It is one object.

You have a pair of ears.

Is.

Are.

Is!

Are!

Duck season!

Rabbit season!

CHRIST ON THE HIGHWAY, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO FUCKWITS?

He started it.

I probably did, yeah.

Just try to help people.

I was trying.

Cuz you’re a try-hard.

What features does the Sony–

“DO!” FUCKING “DO!”

FUCK YOU, IT’S “DOES!”

We’re done.

But–

No.

Can I–

Shut the fuck up. You’ve failed. This is a failure. Add it to the list.

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