2.27.2008

STP, SO TOTALLY NOT COOL

My roommate and I decided to give each other Christmas gifts this year (despite the fact one of us is decidedly JEWISH, but who's counting?). As it turns out, we both scored major hits with our presents; I got a guitar, and she got shoes. All stereotypes properly satisfied.

Last night a buddy of mine came over to "jam" with me, which is hilarious considering his rock 'n roll career out-spans my own by several orders of magnitude, but we still have plenty of overlapping material on deck to keep things rolling. All of a sudden he tells me to play a particular chord, which I do obligingly, then another. I learn and master a full chord progression before I realize I've been playing a Stone Temple Pilots song without even the softest pangs of suspicion. My apartment (also car, office, personal space, brain) is a Stone-Temple-Pilots-free zone. STP is not allowed in my world. Playing STP songs is so totally not cool. I had to drink 11 beers before the self-loathing subsided (ever seen The Crying Game?).

I woke up early this morning because someone (maximum likelihood = "me," but p>0.05 no doubt) set my alarm for 6:30am. I believe I had a craving for vegetarian sausage patties + eggs, + and cheese on rye toast last night, settled for canned artichokes + chocolate sauce instead, and set my alarm clock early to follow up on my craving when sufficient sobering-up time had passed. Everybody loves a good breakfast in the morning.

Funny enough, when I crawled out of the pillow-and-blanket cave I'd built around me during the night (for maximum monster defense) to silence my alarm, I caught an insipid, droning melody drifting through the air. The radio was playing the same sausage-fingered Stone Temple Pilots song I learned the night before. Scott Weiland was mind-stalking me like he was goddamned Freddy Krueger.

The whole experience cast me down into a very odd place today (in an entirely odd week), which could only be erased by the velvety smoothness that is Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald.


Fuck yea...

2 comments:

R said...

Casanova - the monsters aren't stopped blanket barricades or pillow shields. Just FYI. Sleep tight.

R said...

...aren't stopped "by"...