We’ve all had it happen at one time or another. A tune gets lodged inside your brain meats and simply will not come unstuck, leaving you to mutter the same two lines of music every time you wash dishes, or walk your dog, or eat a cheese blintz. This is the stuff of mania. Lately, mine has been Gladys Knight’s “Midnight Train to Georgia.” Perhaps more disturbing, however, is the fact that John Popper has been actively chasing me for weeks. Car radio, jukebox at work, restaurant, bar…that man and his arpeggiating (fuck you WordPress, I say it’s a legitimate word) harmonica will not let me rest. And so, it is time for a public exorcism:
By the way, find the actual episode this bit is in if you haven’t seen it yet. Twenty billion times better, and the reason that it’s in my head in the first place.
Okay, Blues Traveler, here we g–NO! You know what? I don’t wanna. Instead, here’s a certified Original Gangsta of harmonica, Mr. Sonny Boy Williamson (the second):
Mm-hmm. Now THAT’s some good god-dippity-damn blues music.
I’m mooching interwebs off of my workplace today while BC and I try to figure a way to get internets of our own at home. Our days of carefree theft are, sadly, no more. While here, I’m also going to test my skills on our Batman pinball machine. I noticed today that when you put in your two coins, the machine does the “What ARE you?!” “I’m BATMAN!” exchange from the beginning of the movie. Tee-hee. I’m gonna get that free-play score today, dammit!
Here’s the promised Superbad story. So, like most kids who go from elementary to junior high school, I lost a sizable portion of my friends due to school district division. Fortunately, the force was indeed strong with me. The longtime proprietor of Don’s Video (located a mere five blocks from my old house) opened up a GameXchange franchise. Now, this was in that awkward phase in human technological history where the internet was around, but not really fast/user-friendly enough for mass consumption. Sing the dial-up internet song in your head if you feel me: “Kree kree kree kree blip KKKKCCHHHHHH blip KKKKCCHHHHHHH bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum.” Ah, the days of caller ID and bare-bones web design. Tangent aside, the point is that nerds still had to go outside to congregate from time to time, and well, places like this were the equivalent of record stores.
Basically, my afternoons went like this: picked up from school, dropped off at GameXchange, spent hours playing video games on the store’s television, picked up from GameXchange, repeat. I wasn’t mooching, mind. Every Monday, I was allowed a weekly game rental by my folks, I believe it was ten dollars. One evening, the other regulars and I were comparing how much money had been spent on our accounts. I won by a pretty sizable margin. I feel rather sheepish about that fact now, but my folks had their reasons, I’m sure. Most likely two reasons, named Peace and Quiet.
Superbad was one of about three or four employees. As I mentioned, he was a rockabilly dude through and through. He always had Stray Cats or Cherry Poppin’ Daddies on the CD player, and his pompadour never sagged once in the years that I knew him.
Fuck. Story put on pause due to low battery power.