I Went For A Walk On A Stalk Of Wheat

4.14.10

7:40 pm

You ever feel...sort of prepared for something that might be coming and might be bad?

Yeah.

I got that going on.

The Wonderful Lovelies...or is it Lovely Wonderfuls...at Adrenalina had me dip my balls in some VO today.

I dig those guys.

And, more importantly, they dig me.

And NASCAR digs them.

Catfish?

Did you know that NASCAR is coming?

Yes.

They are coming to New York.

Why, you ask, on Earth would NASCAR be coming to New York?

I will TELL you why...because the marketing people behind NASCAR understand the money to be made in Irony.

Think of it: you're a Hipster Toilet Bowl hanging out in some bar named after a type of thimble they don't make any more when, while drinking a sarcastic drink and talking in a disinterested tone about a band that's bleeding edge for the next fourteen minutes, you hear some other Hipster Toilet Bowl mention that there's a NASCAR race going on tonight.

You HAVE to go just to look at the freaks who'd actually spend money on this!

NASCAR thanks you.

You stubbly douches have just doubled their revenue.

Maybe you'll even buy one of those big beers and deep fried turkey legs, you know, just to be Ironic.

But this has nothing to do with Adrenalina's thing I did today.

That's just me, sad and angry I'm not as cool as Hipster Toilet Bowls.

*le sigh*

I was in Duane Reade today buying water and Gummi Bears and the music...it was horrible, yes, of course it was, but it was too perfectly horrible to be just bad music.

It's as if it had been...crafted.

It wasn't so bad it was funny, it wasn't so quiet it could be ignored, it wasn't so catchy it was stick on you, it was just so PERFECTLY bland...

It was like static playing instruments and singing.

And I'm convinced it doesn't exist anywhere in the universe except for on the PA at Duane Reade.

And, since it was the Duane Reade on 103rd and Madison, I'm pretty sure it's what all the black people are mad about now.

Slavery?

Fuck that shit, that's alllll water under the bridge compared to this.

This isn't something my great grandparents did to their great grandparents; this is something I am doing to them...NOW.

I come in with my big headphones on and they just KNOW that I'm listening to that shit right now.

That's why I'm smiling.

That's why I'm saying please.

That's why I'm saying thank you.

Because I'm a cracka ass cracka, makin' them listen to this honkey ass shit alllll day long.

Oh, wait.

No, it's not.

It's because I'm being polite.

Anyway.

On my way home from the Adrenalina thing, there were some marvelous bongo players on the E.

I am not being sarcastic or wangy.

They were really, really proficient and didn't miss a beat, even on the horrible lurch the E and V always take about three quarters through the ride.

They were really, really good.

But I did not want to hear bongos.

I wanted to hear The Spine by They Might Be Giants because I hadn't listened to it all the way through in a few years.

No matter how great the Bongo Men were, I was not in the mood for them and therefore did not want to hear them.

I wasn't annoyed at or by them, I just did not want to hear them, so I turned what I wanted to hear up to drown out what I did not want to hear.

If Meryl Streep were acting up a storm in front of you on the train, but you really just weren't in the mood for it, you'd ignore her, right?

Even if you thought she was great in both the Oscar nominated Doubt and the slapstick-zombie-comic romp Death Becomes Her, if you are just not in the mood for her, you're not going to want to see her, you're going to want to listen to The Spine by They Might Be Giants or What's The Story, Morning Glory? by Oasis or fucking Piano Sonata 16 in C by Mozart.

If you don't want to hear something, but something is all up in your face, you're not going to suddenly want to hear it just because it's loud.

Unless you're a chicken.

They are easily distracted and can drown by looking up in a rainstorm.

But that's evolution for you.