Everyone has been buzzing lately about how the newest James Bond, Daniel Craig, just luuurvs his English bacon. So much, in fact, that he has it flown in while on location in Spain or wherever for his daily breakfast. I’m sure many people find that fascinating, but I’m too busy loving the Foo Fighters for giving me a new name for bacon:
(You’ll also notice the term “chicken boobs” a couple paragraphs up.) This entire catering rider is jam-packed with delightfully silly requests, and a few that really make you wonder. Like, what’s with all the socks and t-shirts? And how can you trust perfect strangers to pick DVDs and magazines for you?! You can see the full thing at The Smoking Gun, complete with helpful arrows to point out the funny verbiage that you dont’ want to miss. When you read it, make a game of it: Count how many times they insult their roadies and guitar techs. Best jobs ever.
I happen to work in the non-rock-star performing arts and see my share of riders, but rarely do we see this kind of comedy. Considering how lengthy some of these things can get, I think we would all appreciate a little more humor and a little less “MAKE SURE EVERYTHING’S PERFECT OR SOMEONE WILL DIE!”
I’m going to make bacon a requirement in my personal rider. I’ll mail it in advance of dinner parties or as a gentle reminder before visiting my parents. It’ll be one page and say “Onions: No. Â Bacon: Yes. Â Any questions? See my dog.” Then during the actual meal I’ll say something slanderous about my husband, smash a serving utensil on the dinner table and walk out of the room without playing my hit single. I’m going to be the most bad ass dinner guest you ever had.