Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: phil lesh (Page 18 of 105)

Rando War: The Push Zoom

June 11, 2017 / / 0 Comments

Please don’t–

“Rando War on the bocce courts!”

–join the Rando…dammit. Hasn’t there been enough tragedy on those courts?

“Why do you think I built them?”

…

Oh, God, you’re burying bodies in there, aren’t you?

“No.”

Are the busboys?

“Yes. Sometimes, Grahame does it.”

Why?

“If he doesn’t do his chores, he doesn’t get his allowance.”

Sure. Are you blessing that rando?

“Swatting a horsefly.”

Sure.

What is this, theme night?

“The, uh, framing of the pictures?”

Yeah.

“Huh. Looks like it. Little bit of randian synchronicity.”

You having a press covfefe?

“Yeah, apparently.”

What’s Mickey doing there?

“Not much. He’s gonna slap Branford’s flip-flops together for a while soon.”

So, the usual?

“About that, yeah.”

I Spy With My Little Eye

June 3, 2017 / / 0 Comments

I see you back there.

“Shit.”

I got eyes everywhere, Oteil.

“Listen, just keep this under your hat.”

Not wearing one.

“And stop being so literal.”

Hate to hear what Billy will have to say.

“Please don’t turn this into a thing.”

Quisling.

“Don’t call me a quisling.”

Mickey’s not gonna like it, either.

“Billy’s more important.”

In every way.

“Don’t tell Billy.”

I dunno, Oteil. Let’s ask Steve Wozniak.

“What?”

Hey, Woz.

“Yo.”

Shoreline?

“Shoreline. Not as fun as the US Festival.”

Sure, but your ticket didn’t cost $12 million this time.

“True. What’s up?”

Should I snitch on Oteil?

“Snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches.”

You’re a fucking truth-teller, Woz.

“I know.”

You have a good show.

“Back atcha.”

…

Oteil, you’re off the hook. You should thank Woz.

“I completely do not understand how this universe works.”

Don’t ask Bobby. You’ll be even more confused.

“Yeah, sure.”

As The Boy Sings Round The Fire

May 25, 2017 / / 3 Comments

Phil, tell that kid his marshmallow’s done.

“I’m not the boss.”

Yes, you are. You own the place.

“I just don’t want to.”

Okay. You saw Long Strange Trip?

“You mean Long Strange Crap?”

Oh, boy. Didn’t like it?

“Not even ten percent of the story. Really missed a lot of stuff.”

Like what?

“Well, you know the old saying: no Ned, no Dead.”

That is not a saying.

“Did you know that the Dead had an incredible softball team?”

I didn’t.

“Course not! Wasn’t in that so-called ‘movie.'”

It’s a movie, Phil.

“Fake documentary. What’s that jackass’ name?”

Which one?

“Mister director man.”

Amir Bar-Lev.

“Suspicious name.”

Please concentrate. You used to be so much easier to talk to.

“Anal Bear-Claws comes to the restaurant–”

Amir Bar-Lev.

“–and interviews me for like nine hours. I’m in the damn movie for a minute. And he didn’t even show the specials!”

The what?

“The specials. I got 200 pounds of short ribs I gotta get rid of.”

Well, that would have been a bit off-topic.

“Mm, yeah. Might have distracted from Franken pontificating about West L.A. Fadeaway.”

Althea.

“They’re the same song. Listen: you got a four-hour movie, and there’s not a spare ten minutes to detail what an asshole Billy is?”

Again: off-topic.

“There’s ten minutes of Bobby looking at stuff. I gave Amal Clooney–”

Amir Bar-Lev.

“–a monologue of at least 90 minutes on the topic of Billy. I went over how he was an asshole, when he was an asshole, and to what extent he was an asshole. And evidence, too! I brought receipts.”

Why are you merely passive-aggressive with the other reporters, but just aggressive with me?

“Why would I give a shit about you? Pitchfork won’t even hire you.”

True.

SHPLORP

…

Marshmallow fall into the fire?

“Yup.”

Told ya.

Raise Whatever’s In Front Of You

May 13, 2017 / / 2 Comments

Are you drinking?

“It’s non-alcoholic, jackass.”

Why does everyone else have to drink it?

“I said so.”

And why is there only plate of food?

“It’s mine.”

Nobody else gets food?

“They’re all welcome to order whatever they want. 10% discount.”

What about your son?

“20% except for fish.”

Sounds right.

“Seafood prices are killing me. No one knew that running a restaurant was so complicated.”

Really?

“Of course not, jackass. I was making fun of that orange dipshit in the White House.”

It’s been an exhausting week.

“He’s gotta stroke out soon, right?”

No. I think he’s the Immortal Evil. Keith Richards will die before Trump does.

“I could send the busboys.”

You shouldn’t

“They really want to.”

Understandably. And righteously. But still.

“What if they just huck tennis balls at his bedroom window at night?”

Randomly?

“Yeah, randomly. Of course. We’re going for learned helplessness here. Keep up.”

Sorry.

“Sleep deprivation. Powerful weapon.”

Hey, man: they’re your busboys. Do what you will with them.

“And that shall be the extent of the law.”

Hail Baphomet.

“Lucifer was framed.”

Y’know what was fun? When the mics would pick up you guys arguing about how many beats the intro of Beat It On Down The Line would have, and then you get to count along with you. Really fun.”

“Get out.”

Okay.

Backyard Fun With Bobby And Phil

May 12, 2017 / / 0 Comments

When Phil makes that face, you need to give him about three feet of space or you’re getting bitten.

OR

Bobby?

“Uh-huh?”

Is that a Fender?

“Yeah. But, you know, it still cost twenty grand.”

Oh, thank God. I was worried.

“It’s a ’59. This sucker liked Ike.”

He was a genial sort.

“People don’t know this about Eisenhower, but he was our most graceful president.”

Really?

“Moved like a panther.”

I learned something today.

“Yup, okay.”

OR

Bobby’s wrist is reaching Johnny Deppian levels of tchotchkes and bric-a-brac.

OR

Phil loves that green flannel so fucking much I cannot begin to describe it. It might be his wubby at this point. Don’t believe me? Here’s Phil tonight:

Several of you go to Terrapin Crossroads regularly; someone bring Phil a new shirt.

For The Wood Is Dark, And Full Of Phil

May 10, 2017 / / 1 Comment

Look at you, you handsome son of a bitch.

“What can I say? I’m hot.”

I said “handsome.” I did not say “hot.”

“You were thinking it.”

Nope.

“Whaddya want?”

I heard that you’re doing the setlist from 5/7/77 at TXR tonight with the Phamily Band.

“When you plug, it’s always very obvious.”

Just answer the question.

“Yup, we are.”

Nifty. You remember anything about that show?

“Nope.”

Nothing?

“You want me to remember a specific night from 40 years ago?”

If you could.

“I can’t.”

Make some stuff up?

“I understand why people hide in the bushes from you.”

You’re too skinny. Eat something.

“Kiss my skinny ass.”

The Passing Of The Hair Dryer

May 7, 2017 / / 2 Comments

“Why are you staring at my hair, Bob?”

“Looks great. Just bought it?”

“I don’t wear a hairpiece, Bob.”

“Sure, sure. Hair system. Whatever they call them now.”

“Weir, it’s all me.”

“Ah, yeah, I dunno.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘I dunno?'”

“Well, everyone knows I’m the one with the good hair in the Grateful Dead.”

“40 years ago. 40 years ago, you were the guy with the good hair. Now, due to the vagaries of male genetics, I have the hair.”

…

“Like how the Democrats and Republicans flipped in ’68?’

“Please don’t compare my hair to the Southern Strategy, Bob.”

“I make no promises.”

M.I.T As Well

May 6, 2017 / / 10 Comments

When dunces give you that “Jerry didn’t want it to be about politics, maaaaaaan,” jive, just remind them the Dead were literally the house band of a student riot. This is 5/6/70 on the Kresge Plaza at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The band was scheduled to play the next night in the gym, but when the kids took the campus in protest of the National Guard murdering four Kent State students, the Dead agreed to provide the soundtrack; they were hidden in the back of a bread truck and smuggled onto the site. (It looks like they didn’t bring Pig’s organ.) It was cold–May in Boston can get wicked chilly–and they had more trouble keeping their guitars in tune than normal, but the set’s got a crackly and wired energy; Dancin’ in the Street is the highlight, which makes sense given the context.

Garcia didn’t do politics because he was terminally passive-aggressive, but the Grateful Dead always chose sides, and it was always the side you’d expect.

Froggy Went A-Courtin’ And He Did Ride, Phil Bomb

May 6, 2017 / / 2 Comments

“So, Frog had someone write a book full of mean and hateful things, and also skank stories. Toad had tried to be nice to Frog, but Frog was just a real jackass.”

Phil.

“Don’t interrupt Story Time.”

Sorry.

“Perhaps Frog was jealous of Toad’s thick and beautiful head of hair, who knows with Frog?”

Phil, that’s not the story and you know it.

“The children need to know the truth about drummers.”

I don’t agree.

“Who gives a shit? It’s my restaurant, and these are my children.”

Those are not your children.

“Every parent here would give me their children if I asked.”

True.

“Can’t have another generation of wieners. Gotta toughen ’em up.”

How is telling them lightly-fictionalized stories about Billy toughening them up?

“They will know horror.”

Also true. Can’t you just read The Cat in the Hat?

“Changed that one, too.”

What’s it about now?

“Rakow.”

Okay, the kids need to hear that.

“Glad I have your approval.”

« Older posts Newer posts »

The Stacks

Follow Us

Google Verification

Follow Us

Follow me on Twitter

© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑