Adam Novak

Will negotiate price. Want to sell asap

Turnstile showed love to Baltimore during their Grammys' acceptance speech for Best Rock Album.

Mickey Hart eulogizes his Grateful Dead bandmate Bob Weir during his public memorial in San Francisco on Saturday: "The Grateful Dead was a ritual band. I felt it the first time I heard Bob play as I walked into that street theater on Haight Street, September 29th, 1967. That night, the theater was dark, dark enough for the band to disappear into only sound. It was consuming. It permeated every pore in my body. I felt the vibrations creep up my spine and, suddenly, I was whole. I was home. Bob was just 19 that first night at the Straight Theater, his long fingers making chords few others could physically reach or thought were even possible. "His choices, like the way he navigated through life, were his own. What defines those early years, though, was the laughter. Bob was funny, and he loved funny. Bob was the band clown, a very endearing comic relief from the tedium of the road. You could always depend on Bob to have a squirt gun or a noisemaker or something going on in airports to attract attention and challenge the rules. Now, we all love breaking the rules, but Bob, he was really good at doing it in public. "No doubt, sometimes we could get a little carried away. One day, we woke up and Bob announced that we were going to the zoo to record the animals. It was a full moon, which was very important to Bob; he assured me that’s when the animals are at their loudest. I thought it was a great idea, but the problem with the plan was that we didn’t have gear and neither of us were recordists. We thought Owsley might loan us his Nagra recorder, so we showed up at Owsley's and he taught us how to record. Then, at midnight, we arrived at the zoo. But as we climbed the gate, we got entangled in the barbed wire. We hung there from the wires on the inside of the fence and laughed so hard that the guards came, shining their lights and grabbing us down. Not knowing what to do with us, they let us go. As we left, we paused for a moment and looked back in the rearview mirror, stopping to consider what the recording might have been. But we found the zoo was totally silent, not a sound. That was perfect, Bob. "Yeah, there was nothing like Bob Weir. He was singular. He was not a copy of anything that came before; he was a true original. I could sit here and tell you so many stories about our lives together, but at the heart of it all is that this was never just a band. It was a family. We grew up together. We lived together and raised our kids alongside each other. Together we rode horses across my ranch in Nevada all the way to the Great Pyramids. We traveled down a thousand roads, roomed with each other in every blue-light cheap hotel, and stood beside each other from New Orleans parish prison through the doors of the Oval Office. "As he grew older, Bobby fully embodied the role of troubadour, but also became an incredible family man. The bus became home to Bob, Natasha, and the girls. It always made me happy when I saw that bus coming down the road, mainly because Bob was pretty much late all the time. He was charmingly late, let’s put it that way. Bob liked to talk about where the music would be in 300 years. After watching it all build for 60 years, he could envision the depth of our impact hundreds of years down the line. He had that kind of vision. He saw the music in all its different forms and genres. He could hear the songs played symphonically; he could hear them plucked by bluegrass players, woven through a second line, or echoed through the Grand Ole Opry. He knew the songs would have a life of their own, not just because of who wrote them and where they came from, but because of where he felt future generations might take them. Not because of us, but because of all of you. "For the Grateful Dead, the music was a necessity and the connection to a community was its power base. Where that's most tangible is in the encore, when the stage goes quiet and the crowd takes over the song. Singing in the absence of a voice from a microphone, it's there with all of us bathing in the collective refrain. You can really feel the power of the music, of the community it came from, and ultimately the community that it inspired. The songs of our lives are yours now, and it's up to all of us to keep the refrain building. Love is real, not fade away." 📸: Miikka Skaffari / Getty Images

John Mayer delivered an emotional eulogy for his friend and mentor, Grateful Dead co-founder Bob Weir, during a public memorial held in San Francisco on Saturday afternoon. "Good afternoon. Bobby and I were born on the same day, exactly 30 years apart. Libras. While the astrology checks out, three decades is a pretty wide chasm between any two people, whether they share a birthday or not. In the 30 years that preceded me, Bob had become a countercultural icon. I was a child of the 1980s. I come from a world of structural thinking, the concept, the theorizing, the reassessing, the perfecting. Bob learned early on that spirit, heart, soul, curiosity, and fearlessness was the path to glory. We both found success with each of our templates, and then we found each other. "The echoes of the music Bobby and the Grateful Dead made would lead me to him, through whatever strange and nervy knack I have for sidling up next to the things I'm in awe of. What would follow would become the adventure of a lifetime for me. It's hard to find the words to describe the relationship Bob and I had: we never really went looking for them. We didn't need to. We stood side by side together in the music. That's where those 30 years would melt away and that Libra balance would kick in. We'd become comrades, sometimes brothers, even if only by one shared parent. We were unlikely partners, and that was part of our magic. "Over the course of a decade, we came to trust each other. He taught me, among many other things, to trust in the moment, and I'd like to think I taught him a little bit to rely on a plan, not as a substitute for the divine moments, but as a way to lure them in a little closer. I guess maybe what I was really doing was showing him he could rely on me. Bob took a chance on me. He staked his entire reputation on my joining a band with him. He gave me musical community, he gave me this community. I got to know his incredible family, Natasha, Monet, and Chloe, whom I now consider my dear friends for life. He lent me his songbook, invited me into the worlds he'd constructed, and taught me what the songs meant and what it meant to perform them. In return, I gave him everything I had night after night, year after year. "The honor of getting the opportunity to express my heart and soul and take flight over those magical compositions has never been lost on me. It's also never been lost on me that there is very little difference between myself and anyone else who loves this music. In so many ways, our experiences have been the same. So I'd like to say a few words to Dead Heads everywhere: the excitement you felt when you were boarding a plane or packing up the car to travel miles to see the shows was the same excitement I felt about flying to the next city, working out the setlist in a group chat, meeting up with the band on stage for sound check, and getting ready for that magical moment when we take the stage and discover whatever was in store for us that night. "When tours would end, you would come home, dump out on your couch, and sleep for two days straight. I would do the same. I could feel the connection we shared together, all of us tired and weary, our hearts so full of music and memories, waiting on the next bit of chatter that it could all happen again. When we played multiple nights in the same city, the afternoons in between felt as if we were suspended in a dream, waiting to become reanimated as soon as the first note of the next show would play. You might have gone to work and your colleagues wouldn't understand why you were only half there; it's because the other half of you was still at the venue, ready to become whole again by the music. I felt the same. The hours before the next show existed only to bring the next show closer to us all. "To the countless musicians who have shared a stage with Bobby, I share in this sadness with you. To have played behind him is to know how the songs go. We will forever share stories of what we learned from studying under a master, and we will go on to teach others how he saw this music, how to leave room to hang a note, how to embody the main character of each song, giving the music everything those characters require for their stories to come to life. After all we'd shared together, something new has arisen: a sadness so hard to put into words and nowhere near being fully realized. We've only begun to make sense of what's gone missing, and in the end, Bobby was right again. Because all we can do is hold on to this moment, and I don't have the faintest idea of a plan. "I know right now it's easy to feel as if time is speeding up and taking so much from us all, but I would remind you, as I have tried to remind myself this past week, of just how many nights we all lived so fully in each second, hanging on to every word of Bobby's, following the music around twists and turns through forests and over majestic vistas, taking in the magnificent interviews and wondering how we all got so lucky to have been found by this music and invited into this dream together. Bob had mentioned that Jerry had never really left him, that he still felt him up on his shoulder, and now Bob will be forever perched over my shoulder. I expect to see him in my dreams for many nights to come, when we'll take that stage together with the rest of the band and weave notes around one another, and I will wake up with a smile, remembering the beauty of it all. "There are a lot of Grateful Dead lyrics that give comfort at a time like this, but the line I find myself thinking about the most is from a Leon Russell song called 'A Song for You.' I'd like to think I can hear Bobby saying these words to us all this afternoon: 'But now I'm so much better, so if my words don't come together, listen to the melody because my love is in there hiding.' And so we will all keep listening together. 300 years, Bobby, now that's a plan I can get behind." "So here's something I know would make Bobby go. Thank you, Maestro. You changed my life. I will love you forever. Thank you." 📸: Miikka Skaffari/Getty Images

Okay Bob. I’ll do it your way. Fkn’ A… Thanks for letting me ride alongside you. It sure was a pleasure. If you say it’s not the end, then I’ll believe you. I’ll meet you in the music. Come find me anytime. JohnBo

The Galaxy awaits. The official trailer for The Super Mario Galaxy Movie is here. Only in theaters April 2026.

THERE'S MORE BASEBALL TO BE PLAYED, CHICAGO. #FlyTheW

The first trailer for The Mandalorian & Grogu has been revealed. In theaters on May 22nd, 2026.

Breaking: After 14 seasons, Anthony Rizzo is retiring from Major League Baseball, the Cubs announced. Rizzo, who won a World Series with Chicago in 2016, is retiring as a Cub and will be honored this Saturday at Wrigley Field.

TURNSTILE started a moshpit and crowdsurfed during their absolutely epic NPR Tiny Desk Concert → cons.lv/W9qolh

A career for the history books.

Bruce Springsteen with Adam Sandler at the premiere of the new Springsteen biopic, Deliver Me From Nowhere. 📸: Vivien Killilea / Getty Images

Forever 23.

Just 17 days ago, Ozzy Osbourne took the stage for the final time, reuniting with Black Sabbath for a farewell concert in his hometown of Birmingham. Credit: Universal Music Group

First impressions of #DonkeyKongBananza, man, DK is one destructive mother fucker.

Larry David is returning to HBO for a new American history-themed sketch comedy series which he'll write and star in alongside fellow Curb Your Enthusiasm alum → cons.lv/UYuTKo

@J_Rose911 Lol thanks dude!

@AdamJNovak Sorry for your loss

I’m not crying, you’re crying…

Homer’s Ice Cream and The Omega, name checked within the first five minutes of the new season! #TheBearFX

I’m not crying, you’re crying…