There was no one they could have called to set up a stream.
It’s not that I particularly wanted to listen; I would have checked it out, though. It’s just the principle of the thing.
Seriously: no one they could have called.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: dead & company (Page 27 of 38)
Reasons There’s No Official Stream For Tonight’s Free Fillmore Show:
- Mickey believes that livestreaming steals one’s soul.
- Couldn’t find anyone in San Francisco tech-savvy enough to set one up.
- There was an EMP burst.
- They were going to, but then Bobby got in in his head that they needed to “go viral” and then he bought himself a Chewbacca mask; everyone got so annoyed that they cancelled the stream without telling him.
- Billy only goes online for porn, so if you put him on the internet, he takes his dick out.
- “No livestreaming” is a condition of Jeff Chimenti’s parole.
- Is it impossible to broadcast over the internet from the Fillmore: every time it’s tried, the signal goes dead; numerous witnesses have reported hearing a spectral voice yelling, “WHAT IS THIS FERKAKTA BULLSHIT?” right before the feed went down.
- Band wants to test out Hologram Garcia in private. (Do not make Hologram Garcia.)
- Building is a Faraday cage.
- Because while they’re not the Dead anymore, they’re still kinda the Dead, and therefore: bush league.
You think I don’t care, Enthusiasts; you couldn’t be more wrong. When Dead & Company announced their free show at the Fillmore Monday night, I was both in a rush and–because of this afternoon’s thunder–covered in my own fear-doody. (TotD responds to thunder much the same way a golden retriever does.) Yet, I posted the news of the show as soon as I heard; I felt a responsibility to let you know.
And what do I get?
Abuse.
Derision.
Nitpickery. And y’know what?
Please don’t–
I ‘J’ACCUSE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS OF THINGS.
—j’accuse the readers of…dammit.
It’s their fault! They brought this on themselves! Look at what they’re wearing!
A t-shirt they purchased from you right before you started yelling at them?
Possibly!
…
How you doing, slugger?
I do not like thunder at all.
It was like seven hours ago.
Well, I’m apparently still a little jumpy, aren’t I?
Concentrate. Tell the nice people–
Bastards.
—about the free show. It’s very exciting.
It’s thrilling. Well, wait: it is actually cool. When tickets go up for grabs tomorrow at 12 PST, there’s a limit of two, plus you have to present the credit card you bought them with at the door; they’re non-transferable, so the audience is gonna be Deadheads. And it’s a much smaller place than D&C have played before, plus it is free, after all.
(The real hip kids in the crowd will hide in the bathroom after the show and remain in the building until the next night, when New Jersey’s own Titus Andronicus will surely be destroying the joint.)
Finally: you know there is no bigger fan of Jeff Chimenti than I. Or me, whichever is grammatically correct. It doesn’t matter; my love for Jeff Chimenti is like the love of a butterfly for a southerly breeze, or a cloud of a rainbow: it makes no sense upon examination. Is it a coincidence that Jeff Chimenti shares initials with Jesus Christ? And even if it is a coincidence, what if it weren’t?
But there was a memo. Oteil wore shoes, and Oteil declared it summer a month ago and broke out his flippity-flops. Not even sandals: flippity-damn-flops, and you know my feelings on those. (You lose the right to feet. Like cutting off a thief’s hand. Wear flippity-flops; state takes your feet.)
…
WHAT THE FUCK, OTEIL? I DEFENDED YOU. And then I scrolled back to the picture and MOTHERFUCKING FLIPPITY-FLOPS.
I stood up for you two slapdicks. “Let Oteil and Jeff Chimenti be in the pictures,” I said. AND THIS IS HOW YOU BEHAVE? Shorts and flippity-flops? No. Fuck this: I will not be treated this way. Both of you have lost your photo privileges; back to the old arrangement of old guys and pretty guy.
You did this to yourselves.
We’re back to this, huh?
I have a legitimate grievance this time.
Sure you do, buddy.
Go get in line: tickets go on sale tomorrow at noon for Monday the 23rd, but not “on sale” because they’re free.
Also: can someone please come to my house and hold me? It is thundering so hard and I am so scared.
What the fuck is Shaky Ground?
Right off the bat: this is bullshit and it needs to stop. Are Oteil and Jeff Chimenti in the band or not? They’re not the backup singers or the horn section; they should be in the picture. Maybe–just maybe–you can not let the keyboard player in the picture, but Oteil plays bass. You need a bass player.
And interviews, too. Let Oteil and Jeff Chimenti sit in for the interviews. Now: I am not a lunatic. I am in no way suggesting that either of them be allowed to speak. But let ’em sit there. What do they do when the pictures and interviews are taking place? Because I picture them standing immediately out of frame in the shot above, pouting. Perhaps Jeff Chimenti will kick feebly at the dirt, and say, “I didn’t want to be in their stupid picture, anyway.”
Also: every time I’ve figured out whose making the funniest face, I change my mind. It’s probably Mickey, but the other two are trying their hardest.
Also also: Mickey’s cold.
Also also also: $215 grand.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Waving.”
Awesome.
“You know: people wave at me, then I’m gonna wave back. Neighborly thing to do.”
This is for Kimmel, huh?
“Oh, yeah. This is the big time. You know that TV shows expect you to just start playing when they point at you?”
I did know that.
“You’re just expected to perform. Like a monkey.”
Or a performer.
“Still, it was an outrage. Except, you know: everybody’s gear stays in tune now, and nobody smokes anymore, so we decided fighting for the right to tune and smoke was moot.”
It’s a whole new world, Bobby.
“Sure, sure. Hey: Johnny looks terrible.”
Johnny?
“And I haven’t gotten a chance to meet Ed or Doc, yet.”
This is not the Carson show, Bobby.
“Arsenio?”
Kick some ass, buddy.
“Will do.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xk0E-UciJFM
Busy day, starting too early, Enthusiasts. The Boys, the boys, and the boy were on Kimmel last night; check it out above.
Meet-Up At The Movies is tonight, but I’ll not be able to attend; the show’s on YouTube, though. Maybe I’ll chuck it on the big screen when I get home tonight and do one of those real-time posts about it, if that’s something you’d be interested in.
Plus: it’s New Computer Day!
When did Billy give his last fuck? He did not enter this world overladen with fucks, by nature of temperament, and he distributed them judiciously, but he is now out of fucks and has been for a long time.
There was a last one, there had to be. Fucks are finite, and your supply depletes until you have one left; then, none. Did Billy know that was his last fuck? If so, did he use it wisely? I hope not, because not giving a fuck about your last fuck is a wonderful way to begin not giving a fuck in general.
Mickey still has fucks; he’ll never run out. Look at him back there, giving fucks with all his might.
Also:
Did you see it?
Not Billy’s vest; we’ll ignore Billy’s vest; perhaps it’s his Birthday Vest.
And obviously not Josh Meyers’ guitar face, which is the most advanced case of Les Palsy I’ve ever seen.
Look carefully.
Jeff Chimenti has switched to his summer shorts.
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