mickey enter“Ah, Thoughts on my Ass!”

I see that name has stuck.

“Oh, yeah. I’m glad you’re here. I have a favor and I need a favor.”

You have a favor? What does that mean? That’s not a thing.

“I was going to give you the tour and a short, but thorough, explanation of the histories and social significances of all my drums.”


“Some are from Africa.”


“The Motherland.”

I am aware that Africa is the Motherland: I cannot hear lectures about the tabla right now.

“Tabla are–”

India, yeah.

“–from India. Okay: not tour. You still owe me a favor.”

It’s weird to me that a Jew doesn’t understand the favor system.

“I was planning on addressing the masses again after the Donor Rap, or before the Donor Rap: basically, whenever there’s a clear shot to a mic, I’m seizing my moment.”

Like in Santa Clara.

“Yeah, but here’s the thing: it turns out I am not a great extemporaneous speaker.”

Your theme was unimpeachable, but in the delivery…there were issues of petering.

“One big peter! That’s what we had on our hands: petering from beginning to end.”

Yeah. Phrasing, but: yeah. What do you want from me?

“You up for some temp Benjy-work?”

Oh, God.

“All I’m looking for is, like, 30 seconds that summed up the weekend, and encouraged people to love one another, and also maybe brought about world peace.”

Urgh. Why? Why not just let the music do the talking?

“Oh, I like that. The phrasing. Let’s use that.”

We’re late to that parade. Anyway: is there pay for this?

“I tried to pay you with knowledge.”

You whacking on congas while listing black guys you’ve jammed with does not count as knowledge.

“Doesn’t it?”



I’m gonna go, Mick.

“Great. If you see any drums, bring them back here.”

You love drums.

“I love them so much, I do.”