Viva Puerto Rico.
Viva Puerto Rico.
I’m gonna judge the fuck out of you. Right up front: if I see you wearing this, I will judge you until my knees go weak. (And, yes, I know that John Mayer has one; I stand by my statement.) Why, Grateful Dead, why? Did you see a market opening in the “chilly grandmas” demo? Who approved that two-tone? What is that collar’s form and function? I feel bad for the wool. It could have been a child’s favorite winter hat, but instead it got knitted into an ugly sweater.
Bright side: you can give these to homeless people when it gets cold.
This is official merch, too, and because the Grateful Dead is dedicated to sustainability and related whatnottery, there’s a photo essay about where the sweaters come from, and how the sweaters were all raised cage-free and fed grass.
Oh, excuse me. Don’t mind if I take out my hand fan.
How do you do, muscly farm boy?
“Um, hello, sir.”
Call me daddy.
Get out of here. I’m making a run at Farmer Brown.
He’s a healthy-looking young man.
I want him to treat me like he’s treating that sheep.
Can you stop sexually harassing photographs and get back to insulting sweaters?
It all sounds so meaningless when you say it like that.
Okay, look at this. It’s where they dry the wool, or blanche it, or braise it. Perhaps there is a ceviche involved, I did not bother to read the captions.
The entire Industrial Revolution culminated in the production of that sweater, Enthusiasts. And this one:
Look how embarrassed the model is. (This was the best take; in all the others, he’s covering his face with the hat.)
And they’re $470 fucking dollars.
Sell tee-shirts, Grateful Dead.
Hey, Chalice Sauvignon.
You like the Dead?
“I like the Dead.”
Name every show on the ’82 Spring Tour.
“Don’t you usually bitch about gatekeeping bullshit like that?”
Yes. I’m sorry. You were at the Farewell Shoes, too.
Why are you at Sundance?
“Promoting a movie. You’d hate it. Nothing blows up.”
Is there kung fu?
“Not even a little bit. It isn’t even mentioned, let alone practiced.”
“There are no martial arts whatsoever.”
–karate? Okay, just checking. Yeah, I won’t see that.
“We all have our own tastes.”
We do. Now, seriously: name all the Spring Tour shows from 1982 or I’m going to declare you a poseur.
“Nice meeting you.”
Say hi to Harmony Korine for me.
Attention New York Enthusiasts: do you wanna hear some news, or should I just go fuck myself?
God, that’s an old joke.
The good bits and the new material go in the big posts.
Sure. So what’s the news?
Dead & Co will not be at CitiField.
What? So who will be?
Dead & WHOA-OHH-AHHHHH-AHAHH-YEEEEEEEAAAAAHH!
Mrs. Donna Jean?
You didn’t hear it from me.
Who’d I hear it from, then?
No idea. But do you know that This Is All A Dream We Dreamed, the spectacular oral history of the Dead co-written by the great David Gans, is only $22.99 from Amazon?
It’s a good deal.
I’d say to take off your helmets, but Gordie didn’t wear one. Hope the Maple Leaf is at half-staff today.
Like an idiot, I thought that yesterday’s Starbucks Day was the low point, and that things could get no more irritating. I forgot that TED Talks existed.
Also: I can’t believe that Starbucks’ Social Media Contentifizers (Meme Squad) didn’t take the opportunity to tweet out a pic of a Starbucks cup with “Jerry” written on the side in Sharpie.
Also also: “Youth@”.
“Yeah, you. Balloons. 3 for $10.”
“You want, I got.”
You’re selling balloons?
“Nitrous Mafia for life, yo.”
You are not in the Nitrous Mafia.
“Lost my Red Sox hat.”
Shut up, butterfly.
I hope you get eaten by a lizard.