In case it was unclear to anyone, my colonoscopy went fine. Clean. No problems. In hindsight, it was worth the terrible pre-exam prep, during which I was forced to elevate my personal terror alert level to a “code brown.” I started a full schedule of school today (15 hours), and first day agoraphobia and alienation set in HARD. In age (not aesthetics), I’m midway between traditional college student and 40-year-old extreme dad/out-of-work loan officer or “big momma’s goin’ back to college!!” Funny, as today gave me the best examples of both: An adventure-hippie-hemp-necklace-beach-asshole stops in the doorway of my 8:00 AM class. He is wearing a t-shirt that shows a minimal outline of an innocuous muscle car. Above this image is the phrase: “My Other Ride Is Your Mother.” After comparing his school schedule with the room number, he gives himself a congratulatory, Spicoli-style smirk, and sits right next to me in a classroom of at least 20 empty seats. Then, walking across campus in broad day light, was a 40+ man in giant cargo shorts, comparable beach-asshole necklace, and a t-shirt that said: “I Can Already Envision The Duct Tape Across Your Mouth.” Don’t worry fella, you didn’t need the t-shirt to help in avoiding random, friendly introductions.
Back in the world that I know, there sits an unfinished needs-to-be-at-least-3,000-words story on the downfall of Cris Kirkwood. This was done, to great acclaim and accomplishment, in 1999. I’m trying to pick it up, dust it off, update it, and I have no idea how to do this. Good thing that the magazine editor needing this piece a week from today…well, good thing he reads this site. No worries.
(A recent excerpt from his Spin column, “And Now, a Less Informed Opinion” - the theme is based around listeners/fans paying tribute to their favorite songs, or some such pre-middle-aged precocious dribble)
Dinosaur Jr., “Freak Scene”
Go get a car and a bridge, because this is a driving song. To do justice to Dinosaur Jr.’s loudest and most relentless song(1), you must be driving over a bridge after midnight, in a five-speed stick shift. You must be speeding over a four-lane bridge, changing lanes and screaming(2). Imagine that you are driving not a Toyota Tercel but a spaceship. You are piloting a Battlestar Galactica(3) needle-nosed fighter, dodging asteroids and Cylons. This requires not only great dexterity and hair-trigger reflexes but the yelling(4) of the song. The song confuses the Cylons; it messes up the navigational systems or something-damn it, I don’t know the science behind-so turn it up(5). Pound the wheel. Pound the roof. Change lanes again. Make angry faces. Turn your headlights off and on, simulating lasers shooting the enemy(6). While careening through space, think of your friends-for no one sings about friends, their foibles and necessary powers, better than J. Mascis(7) - and the times they have saved you from oblivion. Pretend to cry-or actually cry, if you feel it - thinking about a life without them(8).
Endnotes by me:
1. Try a megaphone next time you’re announcing personal status as a consummate charlatan. “Freak Scene” was far from Dinosaur Jr.’s “loudest and most relentless song.” When released as a single in 1988 on SST, it was one of J. Mascis’ poppiest yet. You clearly have no business writing about music, or any idea what you are writing about. When you decided to start “writing” about music, which I wager was about one year ago; did this coincide with you deciding to listen to it as well?
2. I see that you are gleaning a lot of use from that $49.95 mail-order Write About Music As Experience As Music As Experience kit. What a horrible writer of prose. This is straight-up shit.
3. Alert: Pointless and “cute” pop cultural reference that your basest of imaginative banker/aging frat boy will find amusing.
4. There is no yelling in this song.
5. Lookout! Real writer writing with abandon!! Write with abandon!! Go!! Go!! Let it get away from you!! It feels so authentic!!
6. I think that Eggers should go try this out. Tonight.
7. What I would pay to hear Dave Eggers trying to chat with J. Mascis. I really hope to jesus that they are not “celeb buds” (this would ruin my day) - I mean, read this garbage, certainly Mascis would stay miles away from Dave Eggers.
8. It’s a song about fucking up a relationship. Pretty cut and dry for Dinosaur Jr. Whoops, Dave, I’ll try to watch my language from here on out. This last part is where Eggers “feels” it. Up next: The discovery of Husker Du.
The good news and the good news: I’m clean. No problems; barring the roids. The miniature coma was a bit irritating. I didn’t gather my bearings until this morning. I don’t remember the lunch with mom that followed the procedure, though I remember having salmon, cottage cheese, and applesauce.
Mom: “I’m not ready yet, I haven’t finished my salad and I want to smoke a cigarette.”
Me: “I’ve gotta get home to bed…now.”
When you are administered a Demerol/sedative cocktail, you do not get to enjoy the Demerol. You do, however, get the painkiller hangover. I got fucked on that deal.
Prior to the colonoscopy, I was asking every prep nurse/tech in sight if I was “going to be away” during the bizness. They all said “yes”, and one went so far as to ask if I smoked weed. Huh?