i will not be ignored
Spring retreat with the Campus Events kids couldn’t come at a better time. It’s been one week since Spring break, so there’s really nothing to retreat from. Syllabi have been passed out, midterm dates have been noted, enrollments have been finalized. I guess that makes this weekend another worry-free-drink-and-smoke-‘til-your-eyes-bleed-profusely weekend.
Spending time in Palm Springs the weekend of Palm Sunday seems almost fitting. Two thousand years ago, the return of Jesus was celebrated days before he was executed. Two thousand years later, the return of someone with a 36-pack is celebrated hours before he blacks out.
“Rise and shine.”
Inside the living room, people are eating croissants and watching The Parent Trap. The Lindsey Lohan version. I carefully decide that today, unlike most, will proceed without foresight. As the day progresses, I’ll set it free to writhe and thrash about.
Today I read an article about the life of an exterminator (“I fucking love my goddam job. Who the fuck wants to know?”). I grilled meat patties. I spilled caramel on my shoes. I smashed a can of Sparks on my forehead. I regretted smashing a can of Sparks on my forehead. And I got away without anyone noticing, well maybe:
The sun had set. After buying a night’s worth of booze from Ralph’s, we hopped into our chariot of decadence. The tug of two hundred horses sent us flying down the dimly lit streets of the modern day oasis. There’s music in the general sense, but it’s a really a feeling. It’s heavy. Coarse. Guitar, drum, bass electronica. The sound is ripping holes in my ear drums. “RAT TAT TAT!” says Angela.
“Who’s this?” I yell. Before I finish, the question is already drowning under the melody of claps and razor edged notes. “RAT TAT TAT!” I hear again. “Yeaaaa muthaa fuckkaaa, yeaaaaa!” I say.
I have no idea what is going on. Tupac is on this track? Why haven’t I heard of this? Must be the new album.
The next day we head back to Los Angeles. A weekend well spent doing nothing constructive, but rather destructive. I heard the “RAT TAT TAT” song playing again from the van’s speakers. It wasn’t as attention-getting as the first time. The morning after rarely is. “Some of that Tupac gangsta’ gutta shit, huh?”
“Uhh, yea man, totally.”
“So what’s the song? I mean, what’s the name of it?”
“Hmm, I think its ‘Seventeen.’ ‘Seventeen Years’ somethin’ like that”
“Mannn, is that new or something? I don’t hear ‘Pac at all in this song…does he come in later?”
“This is Ratatat.”
“Yea I know-”
“The band. Ratatat is the name of a band. And what the hell does Tupac have to do with this?”
Spending time in Palm Springs the weekend of Palm Sunday seems almost fitting. Two thousand years ago, the return of Jesus was celebrated days before he was executed. Two thousand years later, the return of someone with a 36-pack is celebrated hours before he blacks out.
“Rise and shine.”
Inside the living room, people are eating croissants and watching The Parent Trap. The Lindsey Lohan version. I carefully decide that today, unlike most, will proceed without foresight. As the day progresses, I’ll set it free to writhe and thrash about.
Today I read an article about the life of an exterminator (“I fucking love my goddam job. Who the fuck wants to know?”). I grilled meat patties. I spilled caramel on my shoes. I smashed a can of Sparks on my forehead. I regretted smashing a can of Sparks on my forehead. And I got away without anyone noticing, well maybe:
The sun had set. After buying a night’s worth of booze from Ralph’s, we hopped into our chariot of decadence. The tug of two hundred horses sent us flying down the dimly lit streets of the modern day oasis. There’s music in the general sense, but it’s a really a feeling. It’s heavy. Coarse. Guitar, drum, bass electronica. The sound is ripping holes in my ear drums. “RAT TAT TAT!” says Angela.
“Who’s this?” I yell. Before I finish, the question is already drowning under the melody of claps and razor edged notes. “RAT TAT TAT!” I hear again. “Yeaaaa muthaa fuckkaaa, yeaaaaa!” I say.
I have no idea what is going on. Tupac is on this track? Why haven’t I heard of this? Must be the new album.
The next day we head back to Los Angeles. A weekend well spent doing nothing constructive, but rather destructive. I heard the “RAT TAT TAT” song playing again from the van’s speakers. It wasn’t as attention-getting as the first time. The morning after rarely is. “Some of that Tupac gangsta’ gutta shit, huh?”
“Uhh, yea man, totally.”
“So what’s the song? I mean, what’s the name of it?”
“Hmm, I think its ‘Seventeen.’ ‘Seventeen Years’ somethin’ like that”
“Mannn, is that new or something? I don’t hear ‘Pac at all in this song…does he come in later?”
“This is Ratatat.”
“Yea I know-”
“The band. Ratatat is the name of a band. And what the hell does Tupac have to do with this?”