You+Get+What+You+Give_New+Radicals(copy)(3).mp3
I habitually start my mornings-afternoons-early-evenings with a neoliberal-nihilistic-neopolitan-mix flavored ritual of waking up two minutes before my iPhone-which past-me set to ring 30 minutes early-which is immediately followed by me willfully using my right thumb to enter the clock app and set up a brand new alarm to ring 45 minutes later. The latter act done with the same fortitude and cognizance that Charlize Theron exhibited when trying to wiggle her toe in Kill Bill. After visualizing the monotonous day that I will inevitably have, agitated with the uneasiness of still not responding to a friend who simply messaged you “hey” and “how are u? i haven’t seen u in a while,” melded together with the objective function of needing to pee - and I’m finally ready to leave my bed just two minutes late.
I, courageously, prepare my glamorous breakfast of off-brand cheerios drenched in the pungent two percent whole milk whose approaching expiration date moves me just as much as a white college student fears that he’ll actually be punished for being the resident drug dealer; I’m vaguely concerned, but if it’s white then it’s probably alright.
After emptying the floral-themed bowl’s contents into my face hole, and washing that down with a nice tall mug of led-infused tepid tap water, I’ll shuffle off to the balcony to have my morning dart montage. I put my buds in both ears because it’s affirming to know that I can choose to ignore my immediate surroundings; it’s nice to exercise control in one aspect in life. It's not only a montage because of my curated Apple Music playlist; it affirms my belief that I’m the world’s protagonist and anyone who’s not me is just a supporting character and/or extra whose significance is entirely fixed on how many iterations of “you go girl!” they can come up with.
But this montage was different; something in my gut told me that I should listen to a song that would shake me out of my perpetual state of disassociation. Instead of listening to an uplifting tune similar to-if not actually-Hannah Montana, that would drive my inner self to transpose my physical self from the balcony to my unkempt washroom, I didn’t. No, I decided that I would listen to New Radicals’ radical 199x classic “You Get What You Give” - a song that is as almost as unsettling as it is a banger.
I stood there, on my balcony, beside the empty pigeon nest where I watched a baby chick escape her/his/their egg only to have a heat stroke an hour later, and surveyed the building facing mine to see if I could catch anyone doing it while humming. It’s not like I had binoculars or anything, but if it did happen, I imagine it would make the rest of my day a lot more palatable.
Anyways, I soon realized that no one is having sex at 12PM on a Wednesday with their blind opens due to most people having important tasks to complete like making an unlivable wage at a job that dries up their endless oceans of dreams into a brown-green-tinted ravine of dreams where 15-year-olds receive their first shitty handjob; that, and maybe sharing a post about how black people are unappreciative that they aren’t forced to polish silver anymore. In that moment, I didn’t just listen to the hook of this underrated alternative mainstream hit. I listened, listened. I took one last drag of my dart, I realized that, yeah, you actually do get what you give.
I, courageously, prepare my glamorous breakfast of off-brand cheerios drenched in the pungent two percent whole milk whose approaching expiration date moves me just as much as a white college student fears that he’ll actually be punished for being the resident drug dealer; I’m vaguely concerned, but if it’s white then it’s probably alright.
After emptying the floral-themed bowl’s contents into my face hole, and washing that down with a nice tall mug of led-infused tepid tap water, I’ll shuffle off to the balcony to have my morning dart montage. I put my buds in both ears because it’s affirming to know that I can choose to ignore my immediate surroundings; it’s nice to exercise control in one aspect in life. It's not only a montage because of my curated Apple Music playlist; it affirms my belief that I’m the world’s protagonist and anyone who’s not me is just a supporting character and/or extra whose significance is entirely fixed on how many iterations of “you go girl!” they can come up with.
But this montage was different; something in my gut told me that I should listen to a song that would shake me out of my perpetual state of disassociation. Instead of listening to an uplifting tune similar to-if not actually-Hannah Montana, that would drive my inner self to transpose my physical self from the balcony to my unkempt washroom, I didn’t. No, I decided that I would listen to New Radicals’ radical 199x classic “You Get What You Give” - a song that is as almost as unsettling as it is a banger.
I stood there, on my balcony, beside the empty pigeon nest where I watched a baby chick escape her/his/their egg only to have a heat stroke an hour later, and surveyed the building facing mine to see if I could catch anyone doing it while humming. It’s not like I had binoculars or anything, but if it did happen, I imagine it would make the rest of my day a lot more palatable.
Anyways, I soon realized that no one is having sex at 12PM on a Wednesday with their blind opens due to most people having important tasks to complete like making an unlivable wage at a job that dries up their endless oceans of dreams into a brown-green-tinted ravine of dreams where 15-year-olds receive their first shitty handjob; that, and maybe sharing a post about how black people are unappreciative that they aren’t forced to polish silver anymore. In that moment, I didn’t just listen to the hook of this underrated alternative mainstream hit. I listened, listened. I took one last drag of my dart, I realized that, yeah, you actually do get what you give.