Random Climb Back onto the Horse

Jesus – so many posts begun and not completed to my satisfaction, at which point life just gets in the way…work, yummy barbecues (god-DAMN I hate typing ‘yummy’, and you do too – try it and admit it), weddings, and of course the usual culprits: lack of motivation paired with his old-time homie, continual dissatisfaction with the product, thereby causing it to be an endlessly unfinished product.

But I thought I could knock a quick one out before returning to the wonderful world of Town Hall meetings, talking points, and other such bullshit: in this age of the ipod and other devices which will never feel the rock-hard penetration of the Duracell, whatever will happen to the battery hawks on the subway? Several times over the past few weeks, I have seen my increasingly forlorn BOD Lady (BOD stands for BatteryOneDolla, BatteryOneDolla) cruise through the entire car with nary a sale. Used to be – back in 1993, when you suckas and batches were feeling someone’s hand other than your own ‘down there’ for the first time, and had never heard of Williamsburg, or even the PSATs – I would buy some dope Mexicali AA coppertops from the BOD Lady and even notice one or two others stop her as well. Nowadays, everyone can’t be bothered. They have moved on to the next generation of energy provision in miniature, the rechargeable kind, and the BOD Lady must now turn to her less appealing products to make a living, hoping that the Last Supper mirrors (replete with red flashing LEDs), neon lanyards, and candy will pull her through. These folks can’t even hear her pleas over the sound of Arcade Fire, Kelis, and in some cases E-40….the BOD Lady will become a thing of the past, and she will find herself kneeling before her massive display of Last Supper LED mirrors and votive candles, thinking about the glory days of 1994, and wondering how it all happened. “Dang jou, Steve Yobs, you are berry berry bad meng.”

By the way, Arcade Fire is doing a song for Six Feet Under next season. Is that news out yet? Heard it months ago from my inside track to the Fire, but I never passed it anywhere because, frankly, I don’t give an Ultrashtttt. I mean, I like Arcade Fire, and thank the heavens above that I’ve got a woman on my team who periodically pulls me away from yelling MOP lyrics and keeps me laced with the eminently listenable juice from the Fire, Postal Service, and so on. I just don’t need to be first out of the gate with the not-that-exciting piece of band info, that’s all. I’ll probably see some of those Fire cats at the wedding this weekend in Toronto (only one short month after kicking it with rock royalty in Nevis, too – because, at least some of the time, that’s how I roll) – I hear they’re nice folks. I’m happy for them. Yes, Hater the Hatian from Hateville is genuinely happy that nice folks are blowing up. Imagine that.

Chucky