Wait, the channel is really dead? 
Like it has ceased to exist?
Obsolete, no?
Technology comes full circle. Or does it just repeat itself?
Very sad. My guess (will know when autopsy results come back)â Coke laced with Fent. San Fran likely full of it.
I realize itâs not polite to speculate on topics like this, but man, have you ever heard her old man talk about life?
I think TL Jones is an old school, self-hating Texan male of a certain age who picked the habit up at Harvard (self-loathing). Extremely judgmental, borderline puritanical. Itâs probably the source of the terseness that made him such a popular character actor. I would hate to be his kid.
He does not come across as a happy man. About anything. Vinegar in a human body.
No wonder he was roommates with Al Gore. 
Roommates is one thing, I mean he was just a kid.
But Jones gave a big, âAl Gore is my friendâ speech at the Democrat nominating convention in 2000. By that time Gore had been using his hilarious âblack churchâ speaking style for at least a year. It was about as authentic as Chuck Schumer grilling hamburgers in 2024. Jones should have known better by 2000.
Many kids of famous actors feel that way. I can speak from experience, Iâve known a couple.
Anyway, still a terrible tragedy even if they were estranged or she disliked him (and we donât know that stuff for sure).
We should go with that over speculation that she killed herself because of daddy issues, I think.
Yes, youâre right.
She had a stepsister? Who was still alive?!
Apparently so.
for the âhe was still alive?!â files.
From his daughter.
>⢠â It is with profound sadness that we share the passing of Bobby Weir. He transitioned peacefully, surrounded by loved ones, after courageously beating cancer as only Bobby could. Unfortunately, he succumbed to underlying lung issues. For over sixty years, Bobby took to the road. A guitarist, vocalist, storyteller, and founding member of the Grateful Dead. Bobby will forever be a guiding force whose unique artistry reshaped American music. His work did more than fill rooms with music; it was warm sunlight that filled the soul, building a community, a language, and a feeling of family that generations of fans carry with them. Every chord he played, every word he sang was an integral part of the stories he wove. There was an invitation: to feel, to question, to wander, and to belong. Bobbyâs final months reflected the same spirit that defined his life. Diagnosed in July, he began treatment only weeks before returning to his hometown stage for a three-night celebration of 60 years of music at Golden Gate Park. Those performances, emotional, soulful, and full of light, were not farewells, but gifts. Another act of resilience. An artist choosing, even then, to keep going by his own design. As we remember Bobby, itâs hard not to feel the echo of the way he lived. A man driftinâ and dreaminâ, never worrying if the road would lead him home. A child of countless trees. A child of boundless seas. There is no final curtain here, not really. Only the sense of someone setting off again. He often spoke of a three-hundred-year legacy, determined to ensure the songbook would endure long after him. May that dream live on through future generations of Dead Heads. And so we send him off the way he sent so many of us on our way: with a farewell that isnât an ending, but a blessing. A reward for a life worth livinâ. His loving family, Natascha, Monet, and Chloe, request privacy during this difficult time and offer their gratitude for the outpouring of love, support, and remembrance. May we honor him not only in sorrow, but in how bravely we continue with open hearts, steady steps, and the music leading us home. Hang it up and see what tomorrow brings. 
Chloe Weir 5m
As a rhythm guitarist, Weir was a brilliant space filler for the in between notes Jerry played. I was always impressed that he seemed to come up with something new for a song Iâd heard four times on one swing of spring or summer tour.
Weirâs songs were not as clunky as I once thought and grew on me over the years. From New Potato Caboose to Picasso Moon, he dropped lyrics that latched onto you and wouldnât let go until you figured them out. Some were as clear as day and just left you feeling a-OK, knowing that you were safe and sound and determined to be what you yourself determined yourself to be:
âSure donât know what Iâm going for
But Iâm going to go for it for sure.â
I have been blessed in many ways in my life, but my time on the bus from 1988-1994 has had a prolonged positive impact on how I accept and appreciate my particular perception of reality. Jerry and Phil were the driving force of the Dead, especially in the early years, but Bob was the other one and Iâm glad I made that observation early on.
Another chapter in one of the greatest musical stories ever told comes to its end. But thereâs always hope for more.
âYou canât close the door when the wallâs caved in.â
Word. 
I may be goinâ to hell in a bucket, babe
But at least Iâm enjoyinâ the ride
Killed by ancient aliens for exposing them.