Hey, Jeff Chimenti. Bobby looks weird.

“That’s not Bobby. She’s an actress from Red Roses, Green Gold.

Oh, right. The jukebox musical with all the Dead tunes in it that you were the musical director for. How’s that going?

“I do not like these musical theater types.”

No?

“They never stop singing. All day, nothing but show tunes in 95-part harmony. And I don’t know if you know this, but they sing loud.”

I did. Theater kids can weaponize Sondheim.

“And their hand gestures are so dramatic.”

That, too.

“And there’s an AIDS benefit every fifteen minutes.”

Broadway cares.

“Plus, the smell is unbelievable. Backstage, I mean. It’s just rectal sweat and feet, man. These kids work up a frothy lather. You know what Oteil smells like after a show?”

No.

“Weed.”

Sure.

“I went backstage after opening night and I couldn’t get the funk out of my hair for days.”

Oh, not your beautiful hair.

“I know! Had to get it professionally laundered. I was about to go buy a couple gallons of tomato juice.”

Ew. So I guess this means you’re not gonna be the next Lin-Manuel Miranda?

“No way, man. I’m sticking to rock and roll.”

You rule, Jeff Chimenti.

“Okay.”