TXR was going to be open May 1st, but a few days ago Phil woke up to find the disembodied head of a pinata in his bed.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: terrapin crossroads (Page 4 of 11)
Hey, Phil. Whatcha doing?
“Seder.”
Well, that’s just lovely.
“I’m not a Jew, but I am Jew-ish.”
Well put.
“Tell that joke every year.”
It’s a good one.
“The Dead are what you might consider ‘Jew-adjacent.’ Almost all of our promoters were Jews.”
And Jewy Jews, at that.
“You’re a member of the tribe. Who was Jewishest?”
Bill Graham. No question. He was the second-most Jewish you could be.
“There’s a ranking?”
We’re into making lists. The most Jewish Jews died in the Holocaust. Slightly less Jewish are those who survived it, like Bill. Third are Jews who lost relatives. Least Jewish is Jews like me, whose entire known family was in America at the time. It’s like Six Degrees of Sobibor.
…
“Jews are odd.”
You have no idea.
“L’Chaim.”
Back atcha.
Remember when there were stone-cold foxes in the front row?
“Uh, actually, the front row has always looked like this. Just, you know: younger.”
This looks like a fire hazard.
“It’s perfectly safe. Just as long as there’s no fire.”
Sure. Phil?
“What?”
Did you see Putin’s corpse?
“His what?”
His corpse. When he drowned, did you fish him out of the canal and make sure he was dead?
“No, it was time for the second set.”
Sure.
“Elvis killed him. Don’t worry about it.”
“You should vorry. Putin alive.”
Dammit. How?
“KGB dolphins.”
Shit.
“Putin name them Kodo and Podo.”
Don’t name them that.
“Putin is Beastmaster now.”
You are not the Beastmaster! Marc Singer is the Beastmaster! I was on a plane with him once.
“How he look?”
Great. Real tall. No carry-on, just had a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets in his hand.
…
“Vhat?”
I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.
“This is vild story. Now I vill get revenge on Elvis America.”
Aren’t you a little busy getting your revenge on the actual America?
“Putin kicking your ass.”
Y’know? In an entirely “don’t hate the player, hate the game” kind of way: I salute you, you murderous fuck. You are killing 2017.
“Putin having good year.”
Sure. But here’s the thing: can’t you have a good year without everyone else having a bad year?”
“Nyet. How could Putin be happy if vorld is not suffer?”
Wow.
“Except for Kodo and Podo. They vill never suffer. Be avarded Order of Lenin. Give them pension, dacha by Black Sea.”
Great. Could you play with your dolphins for a second?
“They vork their blowholes to the bone for Mother Russia.”
Sure. Gimme a sec.
“Da.”
Phil?
“Whaaaat? Jesus, you’re a pest.”
Putin’s alive.
“Nah.
I just talked to him.
“Naaaaaah.”
Where’s Elvis?
“At the bar showing people his award.”
Why does he have an award?
“AH WON TRIVIA NIGHT!”
Great. Elvis, listen–”
“DON’T YOU NEVER TELL TH’ KING T’ LISTEN! AH LISTEN T’ JESUS AN’ MAH HEART. THASS IT, MAN.”
Sure, but–
“BOY, YOU GONNA LEMME TELL MAH STORY OF VICTORY AN’ MANLINESS NOW.”
Oh, fine.
“PEOPLE DON’T KNOW THIS ‘BOUT TH’ KING, BUT AH AM A TRIVIA BUFF. AH WAS GONNA BE ON JEOPARDY, BUT THEY WAS ONLY GONNA SHOOT ME FROM TH’ WAIST UP.”
Is that a joke?
“IT WAS, MAN. GOOD EYE. DAMN, ISS NICE HANGIN’ OUT WITH FOLKS WHAT AIN’T TH’ MEMPHIS MAFIA. DUMBER ‘N A COUCH IN A SWIMMIN’ POOL. LOOKIT MAH AWARD AGAIN!”
Nice.
“MAN, TH’ STARS LINED UP F’R ME! ALL TH’ CATEGORIES WAS VERY FAMILIAR TO MAHSELF.”
Such as?
“KARATE.”
Sure.
“SPRITUALITY AN’ TH’ BROTHERHOOD O’ MAN.”
Okay.
“GRITS.”
Right.
“TH’ FANCIEST O’ JEW’RY.”
That was the name of the category?
“DON’T QUESTION MAH MEMORY, BOY.”
Okay. Excuse me one second.
“YOU ARE EXCUSED.”
Phil?
“Whaaaaaaaaaat?”
Did you rig Trivia Night so Elvis could win?
“Seemed like the nice thing to do.”
Is that one of your gold records?
“I don’t know whose it is. Might be mine. One of the busboys found it in the walk-in.”
That was nice of you, Phil. Elvis loves being presented with shiny things.
“Yeah, sure. Honestly, I just wanted to distract him for a couple minutes. Son of a bitch has gone through nine entrees already. Then he wanted a grilled cheese sandwich.”
I would imagine you could whip that up for him.
“Not his version. A deep-fried wheel of cheese with bagels stapled to it.”
Ew.
“Can’t eat that way for long. No idea how he’s still alive.”
He’s not, Phil.
“You know what I mean.”
Sort of, but not really.
“Hey, is Putin still outsi–”
KABOOM
“The bocce courts!”
Putin! Goddammit, did you blow up the bocce courts?
“Me? Noooooooo.”
I don’t believe you.
“Vhy not?”
The pistol you’re holding, for one.
“Putin love Second Amendment.”
You don’t have any amendments.
“Putin have all the amendments.
Why won’t you leave Terrapin Crossroads alone, Putin?
“Hitting metaphor on head a little hard.”
You think?
“Da.”
Regardless!
“Putin invade playground next. Then take gazebo. No more storytime with Phil Grateful.”
“DAMN YOU F’R RUININ’ TRIVIA NIGHT, COMMIE!”
“Finally. Elvis America vill fight Putin man to man.”
“MAN T’ MAN? NAH. KING T’ FINK. YER A FINK, MAN.”
“Putin does not understand ‘fink.'”
“LOOK IN TH’ MIRROR, MAN. ALL SHALL BE REVEALED.”
“Fight Putin.”
KARATE!
JUDO!
KARATE!
JUDO!
“Is shame readers can nyet have our fight described to them.”
“I TOL’ HIM ALREADY, MAN. ISS AN INNERESTIN’ CONCEIT, BUT IT LIMITS YER STORYTELLIN’ POSSIBILITIES.”
“Da. But makes reader use imagination. Like radio play.”
“DON’T BE STANDIN’ UP F’R HIM! ISS JUS’ PURE LAZINESS!”
“Da.”
KARATE!
JUDO!
“Ve are too evenly matched. Perhaps ve should join forces and rule Americ–”
thwip
“Again?”
flump
…
You blowdart him again?
“NAH, MAN. AH WAS PREPARED T’ DIE BY MAH KARATE.”
Phil?
…
Phil?
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?”
Did you blowdart Putin?
“No.”
Okay. So, who did?
“You never saw me.”
Yes, sir. Where’d you learn how to use a blowdart?
“Kenya.”
Right.
What the fuck are you doing?
“I gave up.”
On the storyline?
“And sobriety.”
Are you drunk?
“Dude, Kim Jong Un knows how to party. I kinda feel bad for ducking him all this time.”
He’s there?
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to him.”
Kim Jong Un is at the Alphi Phi charity benefit?
“He’s blending in. Don’t worry.”
“Hot Dog Dick, you want wine?”
“Sticking with tequila, buddy.”
“Only Korea make best wine in world. Red and white. Both kind, best wine.”
I have so many questions, but ‘ll preface with this: tequila?
“Oh my God, the world of high-end tequila is fascinating. It’s almost as complicated as watches.”
No, it isn’t Real tequila is only made from one ingredient. You cannot complicate it.
“Dude, rich white people can complicate anything.”
True. We now move on: why the fuck is the dictator of North Korea–
“Only Korea!”
–at Bobby’s daughter’s party? It’s odd enough that you’re there.
“He’s not bothering anybody.”
“Kim Jong Un gonna nuke all you round-eye fucks!”
“Okay, he may be bothering the tables around him, but he’s not bothering everyone.”
You need to wrangle him.
“Fine.”
…
“Kim Jong Un is buying coke from one of the randbros.”
Dammit, Mayer! This is why you weren’t in this storyline! Now, turn in your badge and gun.
“I don’t have a badge and gun.”
Go get them, and bring them back and turn them in.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Maybe that’s Katy.”
Maaaaaaaybe.”
“I loathe you.”
…
“Upcoming subject of a FISA warrant John Mayer speaking.”
“Who?”
“Is this Bobby?”
“Yeah.”
“Josh Meyers.”
“Hey, buddy. What about a FISA court?”
“Nothing.”
“Josh, it’s very important to me that my daughter’s party go smoothly. My promotion at work is counting on it.”
“What?”
“I thought maybe we were going in a sitcommy-type direction, but I guess not.”
“Bob, where are you?”
“Still at Phil’s. Now: have you found Elvis?”
“No.”
“You keeping an eye on Putin?”
…
…
…
“Yes?’
“Josh, I gave you one job!”
“Bobby, you gave me, like, three separate impossible tasks that required time travel and magic.”
“One job!”
DIAL TONE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE
“Goddammit. Kim!”
“Hot Dog Dick?”
“You see Putin?”
“Fuck that guy.”
“Agreed. Not the question.”
“He head towards ocean.”
“What?”
Where the fuck are you going?
“Joint of Phil Grateful. Free show. Bobby Grateful is jamming.”
It’s not a joint. It’s a classy establishment.
“Is joint. Maybe I blow up.”
Don’t blow up TXR.
“Putin do what he vants.”
Stop bothering everybody.
“No.”
I hate you.
“Putin nyet care.”
I know.
Speaking on behalf of all* Enthusiasts, TotD would like to congratulate Phil and Jill Lesh on Terrapin Crossroad’s fifth anniversary. 70% of all restaurants close during their first dinner service, so this is an accomplishment; doubly so for a Grateful Dead For example, the place has not:
- Burned down.
- Gone bankrupt.
- Been stolen by Ron Rakow.
It’s been Phil’s lifelong dream to own a restaurant, for a narrow definition of the word “own”: Phil really just wanted to be treated like he owned a restaurant; the actual running of one was something he never thought about, mostly because it’s non-stop agita and drudgery punctuated with the occasional busboy rebellion.
Five years! That’s 260 Taco Tuesdays without a visit from the Health Board or Gordon Ramsey, plus no one has pooped on the bocce courts in quite a while. Lovers have met, friends reconnected, deals made. While we cannot know precisely how many people have humped in the bathroom, it is certainly a non-zero number. TXR has seen some wonderful nights since it opened. Also, Twiddle played.
Before Terrapin Crossroads opened, there was no Baby Levon. There now exists a Baby Levon. Did TXR somehow influence the choogle to create life? Again: we cannot know.
Anyway, congrats to Phil and Jill and all the other Leshes and the busboys. May you have another five years, or wake up tomorrow, say “fuck it,” and sell out to Sizzler: whatever makes you happy.
*I speak for you now.
Those are two lucky men.
This shot was from the Brooklyn Bowl the other day, but Phil and his Phriends are back where they belong in Marin County; tonight your pal Reddy Kilowatt is playing with Stu Allen and everyone’s new favorite person Holly Bowling (who really should get herself a band already). Check it out at Radio Busterdog.
“Who is Salt Bae?”
What?
“Salt Bae. He’s a meme. And what the hell’s a meme? Who is Salt Bae, and what’s a meme? Answer my questions.”
Are you looking at Buzzfeed again?
“I like taking the quizzes. Do you know they can tell what Marvel hero I have a crush on from my pastry choices?”
Yeah, the material’s getting thinner and thinner over there.
“I chose a bear claw, so apparently I have a crush on Hawkeye.
Hawkeye?
“Right? No one has a crush on Hawkeye.”
No one sane. Why didn’t you go to Sundance to see the movie premiere?
“Too cold.”
…
And?
“No ‘and.’ I don’t want to go anywhere too cold any more, and I’m just not going to.”
I respect that.
“I don’t give a shit.”
I respect that, too.
Up-to-the-minute Grateful Dead news: Phil is playing at TXR, and Billy is playing in Mexico. Bobby has not appeared onstage yet. Please begin wildly speculating.
Bobby and Billy are in Mexico, but Phil’s in his restaurant like usual, and Radio Busterdog is streaming it live for you like usual.
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