Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: jeff chimenti (page 2 of 8)

Separate, But Unequal

2017 and we’re still dealing with this kind of racism.

Excuse me?

The non-whites get segregated. That is the textbook definition of racism.

Jeff Chimenti is white.

Italians are white now? What next, the Irish?

You gonna be like this all night?

Yup.

Okay. Hold on.

Ahem: ERDOGAN CAN SUCK MY ASSHOLE.

RUNRUNRUN

WHOMP

WHOMP

WHOMP

WHOMPWHOMPWHOMP

Did you just deliberately get beaten to death by Turkish security goons?

Yes.

Okay.

Jealous Again

“Looky there, man. Little Josh suckin’ off the Dead nipple some more.”

Chris Robinson?

“Heeeey, brother.”

Don’t call me brother. I know how you treat your brother.

“It’s just shit, man. Legacy acts playing their old hits. Just sad, man.”

Sure. What are you doing this week?

“Playing a show from ’77 with Phil.”

Uh-huh.

“Where’s his beard?”

Who?

“Josh.”

Don’t call him that. Only me and Bobby and everybody else gets to call him that.

“Still: where’s his beard?”

I don’t think he has a girlfriend at the moment.

“You think this is what Jerry would have wanted?”

He’s dead. He doesn’t get a vote, except maybe in Chicago.

“Whatever, man. Just sad Play your own songs!”

You’re very hard to handle, Chris Robinson.

“You suck, too.”

Nice of you to stop by. Call first next time.

Madman Across The Border

Hey, Bobby. Look at you.

“Went where the weather suited my trousers.”

If there’s any place in the world those pants are appropriate, it’s a Mexican resort.

“You bet.”

Do this again next year?

“Might be a problem. New Brent didn’t get back across the border.”

Jeff Chimenti is his name.

“There’s no ‘J’ sound in Spanish, so he’s probably gonna have to change it.”

Why can’t he come back?

“He’s been classified as both a drug kingpin and a Syrian.”

Wow. I didn’t know you could be declared a Syrian.

“We’re learning a lot about civics lately.”

Hey, Garcia Tee-Shirt.

“Hey, man.”

A Momentary Return To Normalcy

bobby-jeff-rehearsal

That’s some good Dead shirt-wearin’, Bobby.

“Mickey taught me everything I know.”

He may have taught you too well.

“The master becomes the apprentice.”

If you say so. Are you guys rehearsing?

“Yeah, how could you tell?”

Billy isn’t there.

“He may be avoiding the mainland for a while.”

Good idea.

“You bet. So, uh, Dead still a part of this?”

I’m talking to you, aren’t I?

“Sure.”

What now?

“Vote.”

We did that. It did not work.

“Then keep voting. Gotta do it every single day. Make it a routine.”

I think you’re talking about going to the gym.

“That’s important, too.”

Tell Jeff Chimenti to put away his drugs.

Jeff is the piano player.

“Ah.”

For The Benefit Of Mr. Barlow

bobby-chimenti-sean-lennoothers

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“Group shot.”

Yeah.

“Benefit for Barlow. Hospitals are expensive.”

Better than the alternative.

“Depends on your level of Buddhism, I guess.”

I have zero Buddha-nature. I have Daffy Duck nature.

“I can see that.”

How many of these people can you name?

“I could give ’em all names, if I wanted to.”

No, I meant their actual names.

“Ah.”

“Well, there’s Ramblin’ Jack.”

Of course.

“Other folks.”

There ya go.

“Wait, wait. That’s my keyboardist.”

And his name is?

“I stopped learning their names three or four keyboardists ago. You get attached.”

Sure. Keep going.

“Is the guy on the end Sir Paul McCartney’s daughter?”

Yes.

“Okee-doke.”

Question.

“Is it about the shirt?”

It’s about the shirt.

“It’s me.”

Yeah.

“And it says ‘STFU.’ That means ‘Stop Talking, Focus Up here.'”

It doesn’t.

“Then my daughters are messing with me again.”

Probably. Baller move wearing a shirt your own face on it.

“Victory Lap, man.”

Oh, no capitalizing.

“Billy got to capitalize Summer of Skank.”

It’s October. Summer’s over.

“Nope. Fall of 2016 is officially the Bob Weir Victory Lap.”

Dammit.

“I should probably steal the Earthroamer.”

Yeah, okay.

Once Again, Happy Birthday To Jeff Chimenti

screen-shot-2016-10-21-at-11-53-08-pm

Looking good, Jeff.

“Am I a horse now?”

Yes.

“I hate you.”

Join the club.

By The Numbers

Today, as you may know, is the birthday of both Brent Mydland and Jeff Chimenti. Enthusiasts being given to flights of a metafantastical nature, and the occasional occultishness, this has been seen as Meaningful. Maaaaaan. There is, of course, no deeper meaning to any Grateful Dead’s birthdays: they were born when they were born. (Except for Mickey. His birthday is Meaningful.)

But neither is this synchronicity strictly serendipity: it is no coincidence that there are two Grateful Deads with the same birthday. It is math.

To calculate the odds of two people in a group having the same birthday, you have to kinda work backwards a little. There’s 365 days in a year (let’s not bring Leap Year babies into this), so the probability of two people not having the same birth date is 364/365, which works out to better than 99%. Introduce another person, and the odds are 363/365, which you multiply by the first fraction. This makes your chances better, and because multiplication is magic, your odds hit even money very quickly: you don’t have to get too many people in a room before two will have the same birthday. It’s math.

There are two Grateful Deads with the same birthday because there have been so many Grateful Deads. Although, the fact that they’re both keyboardists is fuckin’ spooky, man.

The Real Jeff Chimenti

trixie-siling-giants

I’m sorry: I’ll stop screwing around. Happy birthday, Jeff Chimenti.

Happy Birthday, Jeff Chimenti

jeff-chimenti-monkey

It’s also Jeff Chimenti’s birthday!

A Dance Is A Dare

billy jeff dancing onstage

“Boogaloo!”

“Billy, I don’t wanna–”

“Boogaloo, you shiny fuck!”

“I don’t even know how–”

“I’ll hit ya with my hat. Boogaloo!”

“Okay, good. Now the Nijinsky.”

“Oh, Billy, not the Nijinsky.”

“Do the Nijinsky!”

“Not like this.”

“Nijinsky!”

“NOT LIKE THIIIIIIIIIS!”

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