Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: natascha muenter

Bob Weir: Grammy Attendee



What are you doing at the Grammy Awards?

“I was gonna ask you.”

I have no idea, man.

“It’s, uh, some show. You know that fellow Bonobo?”


“He’s done nine numbers. What, uh, part of America is he from with that accent?”

The part that’s Ireland.

“Huh. That’s a misplaced, but strenuous, patriotism he has, then.”

Well put.

“And what is this right here? Chubby Charlie.”

His name is James Cordon.

“I don’t care for his antics.”

Bobby, you sound like you’re in a mood.

“Well, you know: this really isn’t my scene.”

I know that. I totally know that. That’s why I began by asking you why you were there.


“Eyes on me, mister.”

Yes, sir.

“Monet wanted to go to the Grammys, so I took her.”

And she wanted to go to the gifting suite, too?

“She and her mother–”

Natasha Monster.

“–were quite vociferous.”

So, you just stopped in on the way to the show?

“No. No, didn’t just stop in. Spent a while.”


Narrate this picture for me, Bobby.

“I’m making sure there’s no bar. That’s what I’m saying to the fellow. ‘No bar? At all? Even a cash one?’ And he is informing me that there is not.”

That’s a shame.

“Verging on a crime. You should see this place. It’s like Samuel Delaney designed a mall.”


“Agriculture and cities may have been a mistake.”


“I’m two seconds away from my shoulder hurting.”

“My shoulder hurts.”

I feel you. Do you still have Garcia’s stash on you?

“Natasha Monster wouldn’t let me wear my fanny pack.”

That harpy.

“I know, right? It was my formal fanny pack, too.”

Hey, you’re at the Grammys, right?


Do you see Lil Pump?

“I don’t.”

Lil Yachty?

“We’re nowhere near the river.”

Lil Uzi Vert?

“Now you’re just making noises.”

Okay, just look for a tiny teenager with tattoos on his face and hair that looks like a neon tarantula is fucking his skull.

“Yeah, there’s like four of those.”

One of them will have something for your shoulder.

“Talk to you later.”

Stay frosty.

Just Your Neighborhood Rock Star And His Saturday Night Girl

“Hold me close, Natasha Monster.”

“Stop it.”

“Count the headlights on the highway.”

“Stop it.”

Ladies And Gentlemen, The Beatles

If there is a camera within 100 feet of him, Bobby can sense it. And glare at it.


An incomplete list of Parish’s strengths:

  • Roadie strength.
  • Big guy strength.
  • Old guy strength.
  • Crazy guy strength.

If Parish grabs you, you’re grabbed.


The fellow in the blue is Steve Silberman. He wrote the indispensable Skeleton Key: A Dictionary For Deadheads, which was a bit of a tangible shibboleth of Deadheadedness in the 90’s: every single Deadhead owned this book. (Of course, there were fewer books about the Dead back then, as opposed to the shelves’ worth you see today.) And he’s in Long Strange Trip, where he does a wonderful thing by discussing the Deafheads, who should be brought up often and loudly.

“Who’s your favorite band?”

“Oh, they’re cool. My favorite band is so good that even Deaf people listen to them. Checkmate.”


Nice pants, Bobby.

“They were sold to me as a ‘clingy slack.'”

Is there spandex in there?

“They got a lot of give.”


That’s Bobby’s wife, Natasha Monster, and she’s in Long Strange Trip, too; everything she says is eminently reasonable to the point where you wonder how she got involved with a Grateful Dead.

Grateful Deb

bobby natasha white gloves deb ball

Hey, Bobby. What in God’s name are you doing?

“Looking spiffy.”

You look like the opera singer that Bugs Bunny got in a fight with.

“I’m beginning to get the feeling that a great deal of your worldview was shaped by cartoons.”

Just the good ones. So: what is this?

“Debutante ball. Daughter’s being presented to San Francisco society.”

That is the most gentile sentence I’ve ever heard.

“It is un-ethnic, yeah. Hey, uh: didn’t we play one of these things? My sister’s, right?”



“Phil had a Fender?”


“Don’t remember that. When was this?”

September of ’66.



“If you start–”


“–singing we’re done. We’re done.”

Congratulations, Bobby. And to your wife, Natasha Monster.

“Thank you. Go away.”

Singing For Their Supper

bobby acoustic natasha
Bobby’s wife, Natasha Monster, doesn’t do karaoke much, but when she does, she makes Bobby back her up on Styx’s Mr. Roboto; she kills that shit.


“Bobby, did you ask your wife to be a Grateful Dead?”

“Keith’s wife got to–”


“–be in the band. Aw.”


Natasha might be showing less cleavage than her husband, Bobby Monster.


That dress is a lovely color; Natasha Monster has covered it with a coat because she is cold because she is a woman. All women are always cold. The last woman who wasn’t cold was Joan of Arc.

Thoughts While Scrolling Down

bobby leilani natasha fancyHandsome.



Goddammit, Bobby.

The Crying-On-The-Inside Kind, I Guess

bobby natascha bill murray
Bobby had run it by the drummers and they were fine with it, so if it weren’t for Phil’s vehement objections, Bill Murray would have sang lead on Truckin’.

According to the Innertubes, Bill Murray means things of late. He’s not the guy who half-assed it through Meatballs; he’s an icon now. Bill Murray represents stuff. Deep stuff, stuff about America, stuff about ourselves. if Esquire magazine could do a longread about Bill Murray every month, it would. He looks good on t-shirts, almost as good as Che.

And all the books ever written don’t equal his face in this picture.

Sister Act


Reasons Bobby’s wife, Natasha Monster, and her sister, Lilian Monster, are better than Dorothy Gish and her sister, Lillian Gish:

  • Didn’t die decades ago.
  • Upper body strength.
  • Inoculated against more diseases.
  • Many more Instagram followers.
  • On average, married to .5 rock stars more.
  • Did not become hardened and bitter by the patriarchal studio system of early Hollywood.
  • Neither of the Gish sisters met Mickey, whereas both Natasha and Lilian Monster see Mickey on a regular basis.
%d bloggers like this: