Sinister: A Broken Record (Store)

[pugmunch at xxx.com]

A genial Sini-hello to all!  I am now officially de-lurking, approximately nine days after I proclaimed my intention of doing so to the renowned terry underwear.  And as a further disclaimer, I should add that this post will fall victim to my new affliction:  sub-title mania.  Don’t look it up in the medical dictionary; it's new to the common era.  

ACTUALLY, YOU CAN PROBABLY SKIP THIS SECTION.

Though it subtly ties in with a major theme in the third bit. Regardless, it's a bad time to have a sick car.  But that’s exactly what I had and I’ve made a remarkable discovery:  2 hours mechanic-time is equal to 5 hours out here in the real world (termed loosely).  It’s a good thing I found this out or I might’ve been worried when 11:30 rolled around and the boy who’d driven me home from the dealership wasn’t honking maniacally from the driveway.  Yes, and by the time 2:00pm came about, I knew the time was at hand, having drawn my conclusions, and charted my theory.  By 2:30, Gita was purring down the highway, glowing happily in the afternoon sun, freshly washed down by loving, but slow, hands.  And I thought I had no mathematical skills to speak of!  This will save me a lot of needless phone calls in the future, and this is a Good Thing because my t-mobile bill read $229.00 last month.  Eek!  

YOUR TRANSFORMATION IS COMPLETE

Next on the list (she makes a mental tick; I had a mother-in-law once who actually made lists of topics before she made phone calls.  Scary, scary family).  It’s actually the heart of the matter.  Yes, folks, this is it.  We need to talk.  About Zia.  It’s gone to hell in a handbasket.  Look what happens when I take a sabbatical from conventional record purchasing.  The Record Store Savior (remember him?  Ah, I didn’t think so.) is GONE.  Gone, gone, gone.  Who is there to slip me B&S bootlegs?  Who is there to help me with obscure imports?  NO ONE.  I’m completely bereft!  I don’t know what to do!  I ambled in tonight, quite confidently, only to find the joint peopled with strange employees; I didn’t recognize *one*.  My heart slowly sank as I made my way to the B&S section.  After ordering the albums chronologically – which may or may not be an obsessive/compulsive habit of mine; I feel it’s my duty – and casting covert glances at the registers, I wheeled around expecting !
to see him hiding out at the imports counter behind me.  Alas, there was no hope.  He’s hell and gone, and none of the people even know who I’m talking about.  I had to ask.  I think his name was Chris, although I could be wrong.  I’ve been wrong at least twice that I know of, so it’s not an impossibility.  In loving memory of him, I’d like to say that he let me use the employee bathroom once; it was covered with Star Wars Posters, which excited me to no end; it was a homecoming sort of feeling.  There was a Chewy decal on the toilet.  I felt such a ‘part of’, man.  I’m just a regular outsider now.  At least they had the new Pernice Brothers.  It’s my consolation prize.

PAINTING THE TOWN….ER, GREEN.

I had a date.  I know; I can’t believe it either.  It wasn’t your average date, though.  I went out with a Kurdish refugee and co-erced him into telling me his life story with unprecedented panache, saying, “Well, I’ve got about 87 questions for you.  Would you mind if I start now?”  And then it came to light that he likes fast cars, a la The Fast and the Furious, salsa dancing, and action movies.  Hmmm.  So much for preconceptions of a shy, determined boy trying to adjust to the capitalist American culture.  He’s more American than I am, I reckon.  The song “Americano,” (Brian Setzer version, thank you) was looping in my head, battling it out with the alarm bells that started searing through my brain as he told me about his last (totaled) car and how it was green and had that neon light thing underneath it and how he had a racing club on the west side.  Right.  Hmmm.  The Arabic techno rawked though, but the promised, much-vaunted mix has yet to materialize.  In light of ho!
w little we actually have in common, I’m rather shocked that I’m not completely in love.  It *would* fall in with my track record.

FROM THE FRINGE OF THE OASIS….THE END.

I’d say that’s all worthy of mention at the moment.  I’ve just finished my final Red Bull of the evening; I’m on rations now, as the case in the fridge has dwindled down to only five remaining cans.  Tomorrow might call for a desperation run to the nearest Costco.  And it’s time for the trial run of my new cd’s, consolation prize or not.  And, of course, I must lounge in the hammock and chainsmoke; it’s a prerequisite to sleep, didn’t you know?  

;-)

S.  



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