Thoughts On The Dead

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The Science Of The Deal

August 15, 2016 / / 2 Comments

U2 @ The Forum - 05/30/2015

“John, are you kidding me with this interview? Jesus, you’ll talk to any schmuck who sticks a phone in your face.”

“What? I was very articulate and didn’t mention my penis.

“I saw. Very proud of you.”

“I don’t talk about my penis, like, at all in interviews any more.”

“I know, such a good boychik.”

“But I could tell you all about it, if you’d like to hear.”

“Later.”

“Okay.”

“John, you shouldn’t–

“Jennifer Lawrence.”

“–have said…really?”

“She likes ’em tall and douchey.

“That’s an Oscar winner.”

“I know! I’m almost done with my Sexual EGOT.”

“Having sex with women who have won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony?”

“A Sexual EGOT is…yeah. How’d you do that so fast”

“Again: I am in charge of the music business, and I did not attain the position through nepotism or looks.”

“Sure.”

“Listen, schmendrick: when you say that you want to be in Dead & Company forever, that screws me in the negotiation. Now they know you’re not going to walk, and that reduces my options, which therefore reduces your check.”

“Oh. But I really do want to stay in this band. I love soloing over this music, and the hippies are very nice to me and my penis.”

“Regardless. The alta kockers need you, but you gave away your power. Now you need them. I was two phone calls away from having you own the publishing rights to all the albums.”

“The studio albums?”

“Yeah.”

“Pass.”

“Your loss.”

“What about the other thing? Any headway?”

“It’s coming along.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Irving, is your ring tone me soloing?”

“It is.”

“That is SO sweet of you.”

“I’m not just a manager, John. I’m a fan. Hold on, I gotta take this. I’m gonna walk over there.”

…

“You’re on with Azoff.”

“Baby Jew! How your wife and my kids?”

“Hey! Stupid Buddha, you lowlife. Your generals kill you in your sleep yet?”

“Banter is best.”

“Banter, right. What?”

“Josh Meyer change number again.”

“Yeah? Okay. I’m sending you the new one, and he’s got a new private e-mail. Sending that, too.”

“You are true friend to Josh Meyer, Baby Jew. You know he belong with Kim Jong-Un.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“True friend. Act out of goodness of heart.”

“That’s me.”

“Cut shit, Azoff. Why you do this?”

“Bored.”

“Okay. I call best friend Josh Meyer later. Maybe kidnap.”

“Later? You’re busy? What the fuck are you doing?”

kim jong un lab coat

“Science, motherfucker.”

“Gotta go.”

“Tell Jackson Browne I big fan.”

“No.”

Palm, Sunday

August 7, 2016 / / 1 Comment

jm irving azoff street

“You gotta help me out, Irving.”

“How did you even meet Kim Jong-Un in the first place?”

“It’s a long story. I got that guy bugging me, I got girl trouble, I got skank trouble, and I haven’t soloed in sixteen hours.”

“You were playing your guitar when I picked you up.”

“I mean in front of paying crowds.”

“Sure.”

“It doesn’t count, otherwise.”

“Right. Back to Kim Jong-Un. You can’t hang out with him. You have built up a lot of goodwill; this would not help.”

“I’m not hanging out with him! He’s obsessed with me. He hacked my Instagram account.”

“How’d he do that?”

“He’s got hackers! He’s from Only Korea.”

“Only Korea?”

“North Korea. I meant North Korea.”

“John, none of this is what I want to hear. You are on the cusp of a mid-career resurgence. This solo album hits, and you’re huge again. You want to be People‘s Sexiest Man Alive 2017?”

“I want that so badly, Irving.”

“Well, nightclubbing with dictators is not the way to get it.”

“I’ve tried to get rid of him. I don’t think he’s used to people telling him ‘no.’ He kinda just doesn’t process it.”

“Hmm, yeah. Don Henley does that.”

“The fat bastard’s insinuated himself, Irving. He insinuated, and now he’s all up in there. He’s having summit meetings with President Katy Perry; that is, when she’s not letting fading limey movie stars thwop their uncut dongs on her back. And Taylor Swift is now in charge of the Only Korean, DAMMIT, North Korean air force.”

“Are you taking drugs, John?”

“Irving.”

“Bad drugs, I mean. Are you taking bad drugs, John?”

“Irving.”

“Did the Grateful Dead do this to you?”

…

“Let’s go to a toy story and buy a doll, so you can show me on it where the Grateful Dead touched you.”

“I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

“A little bit. You need to concentrate, though. Very important to follow the plan and not get distracted.”

“Absolutely. Am I in Phish yet?”

“I said ‘don’t get distracted’ literally two seconds ago.”

“Irving, I made it perfectly clear that I wanted to be in Phish.”

“I ran up a trial balloon.”

“And?”

“They named the balloon ‘John,’ and said it couldn’t join the band.”

“Ow.”

“John, the end of this year is huge for you. Big press. Big shows. Album. We increase your fanbase and concurrent asking price so that next summer, when you play with your little hippie buddies, you play even bigger venues. You can’t be chasing around every jam band you see.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

…

“Are you thinking about asking Kim Jong-Un to have Trey assassinated?”

“Wow. How did you know that so fast?”

“I’m quite literally in charge of the American music industry. I’m a smart guy. Don’t have Trey assassinated, please.”

“Aw.”

Winging In The Dead Of Night

March 17, 2016 / / 0 Comments

sr-71 blackbird

“Irving, no.”

“Hear me out, Bob.”

“Where did you even get this thing?”

“I didn’t say ask questions; I said to hear me out.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Dead & Company is going to have the biggest tour of the summer, and it should have the best jet.”

“You and me define ‘best jet’ in very different ways.”

“Think of the publicity!”

“Okay.”

…

“Nope. Still a terrible idea.”

“What’s the worst part of touring? The travel, right? This cuts down the time you’re in transit.”

“How fast is it?”

“Marin County to Fenway Park in 48 minutes.”

“That might be too fast. It’s 3,500 miles, Irving: it should take an afternoon, at least. And, you know: there might be another hiccup.”

“Yes?”

“Only seats two. And neither of them is a passenger.”

“No. There’s a whole back section. Fits a whole team of people. Well, not people. Mutants.”

“Are you thinking about the plane from the X-Men?”

“I thought Brett Ratner’s was the best one.”

“Sure. Yeah, Irv: that’s just a set. This thing is an SR-71 Blackbird and it takes, like, years of training to be allowed in the same building with the thing.”

“Huh.”

“On the spectrum of planes, if Zeppelin’s Starship was all the way to the left, then this one would be on the right. It has no shag carpeting, and you can’t do any coke on it. Not even little bumps.”

“Stewardesses?”

“None.”

“Huh. Still, I think we should think about it.”

“I thought about it, Irv.”

“Iron Maiden has a plane.”

“Because their singer is a pilot.”

…

“Irv?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Think about something else. And you should probably see if it’s even legal to own this thing.”

“It passed the emissions tests.”

“Ah.”

Microptera Volkswagenus

March 13, 2016 / / 2 Comments

IMG_3675

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Weir here.”

“Hey, Bob. Irving. Getting ready for Purim?”

“That depends: is Purim the name of one of the Fellowship of the Ring?”

“No. Holiday. Jewish. It involves a specific cookie.”

“I am not preparing for that. Did you just send me a picture?”

“Yeah, what do you think?”

“I think your balls look exactly like Billy’s.”

“I didn’t send you a picture of my balls, Bob.”

“Oh. Then that was Billy. Makes sense. Your balls are circumcised. What is this thing, Irving?”

“It’s show biz!”

“It looks like you asked an engineer to build you a suicide machine.”

“It’s for the Fenway gigs. Band flies in, lands in the outfield.”

“We’d plummet in, crash in the river.”

“Probably not.”

“And, you know: that thing looks even less seaworthy than it is airworthy.”

“Bob, it is a perfectly functional busicopter.”

“That’s not a thing or a word.”

“Kids’ll love it.”

“Then let them get in it. Nope, nuh-uh.”

“You’re being unreasoable.”

“Wait’ll you float this by everyone else. I am the height of reasonableness compared to them.”

“Mickey loved the idea.”

“Mickey is planning on stealing it while we are in the air. Mickey thinks he can fly a helicopter.”

“Ah.”

“Besides, Chimenti’s hair would get sucked into the rotors.”

“He could wear a hat.”

“Crime to wear a hat with hair like his, Irv.”

“Sure.”

“And don’t even mention this to Josh.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll covert the Earthroamer into a rotary-blade craft, mark my words.”

“It would be easier to picture if someone Photoshopped it.”

“It would, yeah.”

“Bob, c’mon: what am I going to do with this thing?”

“Sell it to George Harrison’s kid so he can sell replicas.”

…

“I’ll call you back.”

“Sure.”

Paint It Black-Throated Wind

March 1, 2016 / / 4 Comments

bobby old happy beard

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Weir here.”

“Bobby! Irving. How are you?”

“Y’know, Irv: woke up this morning and felt super.”

“I see what you did there.”

“What did I do?”

“Anyway. Bob: I got Dead & Company a great show. Big publicity. Huge crowd.”

“You haven’t mentioned the money.”

“It’s a free show.”

“Yeah, huh, about that: no. Well, I mean: the drummers won’t show up. If it’s a real good cause and there’s a private plane and all that then maybe I could go with my acoustic and play some numbers.”

“This is worth it, Bob. Big show!”

“Where?”

“Havana.”

“Illinois?”

“Cuba.”

“There’s a Havana in Cuba, now?”

“Bobby, concentrate. Millions of people. Broadcast around the world. Huge pub, baby.”

“Well, wait: do Cubans know who we are?”

“No. But they know who the Stones are. You’re opening.”

“Opening for the Stones?”

“Yeah.”

“At a free show?”

“Right.”

“Click. Dial tone.”

“Bob, did you just say “click” and “dial tone?”

“Well, you just can’t hang up on people dramatically anymore.”

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah: Here’s Your Fucking Oscar Post

February 28, 2016 / / 3 Comments

Fuck the Oscars. Everything about them. Fuck the middle-of-the-road inspirational stories, and fuck the dresses, and fuck Jack Nicholson (who hasn’t been to one of these things in years, but still: fuck him and his indoor sunglasses and all his rapist buddies), and fuck the In Memoriam bit, and fuck the Academy.

Remember: the Oscars are just a good-looking trade dinner. People who make dental equipment have a big party every year, with a host and awards, and no one gives a shit about that. The Oscars are the same exact bullshit, just with bigger tits.

I won’t be watching, not as long as kung-fu movies and nature documentaries still exist, or books, or half-hearted masturbation: all of those things are better than white people congratulating themselves while pretending to give a shit about Chris Rock’s chastening remarks.

Plus–as usual–I have seen almost none of the movies up for Best Picture. This will not stop me from mocking them.

Bridge of Spies More like “Bridge of Sighs,” am I right? This is one of those movies in which people in skinny ties talk to one another in rooms with period dressing. The only way this film could be any fun at all is if you watch it imagining that Tom Hanks’ character became a diplomat after getting rescued from a desert island and he also had AIDS.

The Revenant Did you know it was cold when they filmed this? And that natural light and cameras and eating livers and KILLMEKILLMEKILLME. Admittedly, I’m amused by any discomfort Leonardo DiCaprio is put through, and I think if the Academy had any balls, they would recognize how desperately that little modelfucker wants an award and not give it to him so he had to keep doing these bullshit stunt movies. Have someone call Leo and tell him that he’ll win when he suffers for it. His next movie would be three hours of Billy punching him in the dick (BUT SHOT IN ALL NATURAL LIGHT OMIGOD).

Spotlight No. Actors pretending to be journalists AND terrifically shitty Boston accents. Also: this was supposed to be a movie about child molesting, and I read that they don’t even show the molestations. That’s like that Godzilla movie from last year that had eight minutes of Godzilla. You sold me a movie about priests raping children, Spotlight. Should be at least one or two scenes set in the rectory during a sleepover.

The Martian Damon’s a punk. Affleck could have been off that planet in ten minutes. Affleck’s Batman. Batman doesn’t get stuck on Mars. Also, for a movie named The Martian, there is no mention of the Illudium Q36 Space Modulator. (People seemed to like the book this was based on, but I hurled it across my living room ten pages in. Guy can’t write a sentence.)

Brooklyn The Beckham kid got a biopic? He’s a teenager. I don’t understand Hollywood.

Room I would rather spend two weeks researching, outlining, drafting, rewriting, and polishing a ten-thousand word longread about how the Oscars are racist and sexist and privileged and probably also waste water than see this movie. I would follow Further on tour before watching this film. I’d rather get in a Twitter war with a Trump supporter who calls people “cucks” than see this movie. Hard pass.

The Big Short They made a movie about Irving Azoff?

Mad Max: Fury Road Should win. The Revenant probably will, because Hollywood is full of turds, but Mad Max should. If you had to put money on it, which film will be remembered and rewatched by anyone except Film Fucks in the coming years: the one where the bloated former pretty boy sucks a bear’s dick, or Fury Road? (Another reason that Fury Road is better is that I did not have to look up the meaning of either word, whereas I may or may not have had to google “revenant.”)

I was going to do the actors and actresses, but I just looked up the list and then I got woozy from the lack of fucks. For a moment, I was running on fuck-fumes, Enthusiasts. Let’s pretend I did. They’re all white and pretty and, in person, much smaller than you’d think.

Gotta Keep Your Blimp Hand Strong

February 15, 2016 / / 2 Comments

Image result for passenger blimp“Irving, stop calling me.”

“Bob, your close-mindedness is kind of off-putting. I’m just gonna say it. Off-putting.”

“It’s a blimp. Be fun to have one over the baseball stadiums like at Soldier Field. People enjoyed that a lot.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re pro-blimp.”

“I am pro-having a blimp at the show, not traveling from show to show in one. Same feelings I have for portable toilets.”

“You’d be a man of the people, Bob.”

“The people don’t have blimps, Irving. Also, you know: I’d rather not be a man of the people if I could avoid it. I’d like a private jet.”

“The whole thing about a private jet is exclusivity, isn’t it? What’s more exclusive than a blimp?”

“That’s not the only thing. Going 500 miles an hour is a big part of it. Could a blimp even get from Pittsburgh to Boston in two days?”

“A fast one could.”

“Are there any fast ones?”

“No.”

“What if there were strong winds?”

“Couldn’t fly.”

“What about mild wind?”

“Same.”

“Any wind whatsoever?”

“Blimp down. Any breeze above five mph and you lose all control of the thing.”

“Right. And, you know, Irv: a blimp is just a terrible idea for us.”

“Why?”

HELLO, FRAULEIN. YOU ARE LOOKING PLUMPLY MAJESTIC TONIGHT.

“There ya go.”

I WILL FLIEGEN MIT YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK, PROVIDED THERE IS NO WIND. I AM SENSITIVE TO A BLIMP’S NEEDS.

“Bob, what the hell is this?”

“Wally?”

DO NOT CALL ME THAT.

“Well, Irv: Wall of Sound mighta come to life. Just a little bit. That’s not really public information, though, so keep it under your hat.”

IT IS PUBLIC INFORMATION. I AM RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT. THERE ARE BUMPER STICKERS.

“It is kinda weird, Bob.”

“Sure, but I’m not asking where you got the blimp, so maybe you could not ask about the sentient sound system from 1974 I know.”

“That’s fair, actually.”

HELLO, DADDY.

“Don’t call me that.”

YOU ARE ONE OF THE MAKERS. THE SOUNDS OF YOUR HEARTS COURSED THROUGH ME AS LOUDLY AS A FREIGHT TRAIN.

“Oh, well, you know: that’s sweet.”

GET THE BLIMP.

“Ya dig blimps, huh?”

I DO NOT SEE GENDER.

“Blimp’s a gender now?”

IT IS ON THE INTERNET.

“Sure, sure.”

SHE IS MY BEYONCÉ. SHE IS BLIMPONCÉ.

“Not getting the blimp, man.”

I AM GOING TO SEE IF SHE HAS A SNAPCHAT ACCOUNT.

“Happy hunting.”

…

“Irv? You still here.”

“Yeah, Bob. So, are we all in the same location, or what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.”

“Where’d you get the blimp?”

…

…

…

“Holding it for a guy.”

“Great. Nice talk, Irving.”

Sailing Down The River In An Old Canoe

February 13, 2016 / / 0 Comments

river cruiser“I don’t even know what that is, Irving.”

“River cruiser.”

“It looks like a floating Motel 6.”

“There’s a jacuzzi! Bobby, I don’t understand: the Dead was known for experimentation.”

“Musical. In a transportational sense, we settled on private jets very early. In fact, most of us settled on them before we even had them.”

“You’re bordering on being racist towards boats, Bob. I won’t stand for that.”

“Irv, I love boats. They’re for hanging out and drinking beer on. This plan has many flaws, is all I’m saying.”

“I can’t see any, honestly.”

“How fast does that thing go?”

“Almost 15 knots. That’s a lot of knots. Couldn’t untie them.”

“That’s, like, 17 miles an hour.”

“Well, why do you think I said it in knots? I hoped you wouldn’t know.”

“Also, Irving, there is no way to get from Northern California to Boston via a boat. Unless you put it on a trailer and drive it there.”

“I think you’re mistaken.”

“What you’re talking about is the Northwest Passage.”

“I don’t know the exact route, Bob.”

“No: crossing North America via water is the Northwest Passage. It doesn’t exist. The Rockies get in the way.”

“Never know ’til you try, Bob.”

“Irving, are you running an illegal, high-stakes casino and people are paying you in stuff?”

…

…

…

“No, of course not.”

“No boat.”

Jam Cruise

February 13, 2016 / / 0 Comments

img_3437“Irving, I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore.”

“No traffic in the water, Bobby. Plus, think of the publicity. ‘Dead & Company is Truckin’ on the High Seas!’ That’ll sell tickets.”

“None of what you said has any connection to reality.”

“You wanted luxury. This thing is kitted out.”

“I wanted a plane. It doesn’t matter how luxurious the thing is. It travels through the wrong medium.”

“What if you were the captain?”

“What?”

“You’d get a hat.”

“Irving, for Christ’s sake, one of the shows is in Wisconsin.”

“Beautiful that time of year.”

“Boat don’t go from Marin to Wisconsin.”

“Bobby, don’t underestimate the rivers and man-made waterways of our beautiful nation.”

“Where did you even get this thing?”

…

…

…

“Found it.”

“Leave us out of whatever this is, please. A normal plane.”

You Won’t Even Feel The Blades

February 12, 2016 / / 0 Comments

img_3413“Are we still doing this?”

“Bob, you don’t understand: not only is this how Dead & Company travel on the tour, but it’s also my gift to you.”

“Irving, I don’t want a helicopter.”

“Who wouldn’t want a helicopter?”

“A fellow who lives on the side of a mountain, for one. Who doesn’t know how to fly a helicopter. And would get yelled at by his sister-in-law for having one.”

“But I wrapped it. The bow cost fifty bucks.”

“Irving…”

“Billy Joel has a helicopter.”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine, fine: I’ll give it to John.”

“Don’t do that. He’ll give it its own Instagram account.”

“Publicity!”

“Where did you even get a helicopter, anyway?”

…

…

…

“Craigslist.”

“Gotta go, Irv.”

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