last night, before dinner, i was tooling about town with scooter (my new favorite person on earth) picking up randomly placed out-of-towners. we were heading on over to st. paul to pick up a nerd and on the journey we got to talking about the replacements and music and what not.
i launched into how heartbreaking it is to tell someone that you love the replacements and they automatically think ‘oh, the people that sing the friends’ theme song.’
yeah. i can never tell which is more upsetting the fact that someone would think i’m the typea person who would love the rembrandts (and the tripe they sing) or that they just don’t know who the replacements are.
the car full of westernerds totally laughed as i talked about this heartbreakedness. needless to say, it was all some sort of sick, sad foreshadowing of what was to come.
so anyway, there was post-show madness on hennepin avenue last night. a bunch of the westernerds and i had meandered down the street to a little place called mackenzie’s, though we didn’t go in because we had a young’un with us. as scooter went in to say so long to his sister and brother-in-law, the lot of us waited outside with the young’un.
mackenzie’s is located right next door to the orpheum, where marilyn manson had played. there was a mulleted guy with his son not far from the bench i was perched on, talking angrily about something with a few other black-clad manson fans. i tried valiantly to eavesdrop, but couldn’t quite make out what the mullet was all hopped up about.
eventually some teenaged manson fan (TMF) joined me on the bench.
“you gossiping about what you saw at the show?” he asked.
“uh, no,” i said. “i was at a different show.”
“you weren’t at marilyn manson?”
“do i look like i’d got to marilyn manson?” i asked.
. . .
“i was at the paul westerberg show down the street,” i said.
“paul westerberg? whose he?”
“he used to the lead singer of the replacements,” i said.
“huh,” he said. “that’s sounds familiar.”
“i will dare, alex chilton, something to du, i bought a headache, dope smoking moron,” i said, leaning toward the early punk stuff hoping to connect with this young music fan.
“oh!” he said, a the beam of enlightenment coming over his face. “they sing that song from friends!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” i shouted. “they do not sing that song from friends, that’s the rembrandts NOT THE REPLACEMENTS.”
“woah,” he said. “i don’t know.”
“clearly you don’t know.”
“so what do these replacements sing.”
“i will dare,” i said.
“i will dance? the safety dance? i love that song,” he said.
“oh forget it,” i said.
“i can’t help it that i don’t know the history of rock and roll,” he said.
“well, you’re missing out.”