The song I woke up singing today was Beck’s “Loser.”
You can’t write if you can’t relate
Trade the cash for the beef for the body for the hate
And my time is a piece of wax fallin’ on a termite
who’s chokin’ on the splinters
This is really apropos of nothing, but interesting considering summer is doing something to me. I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to put products in my hair or blowdry it, I don’t want to wear clothes. I want to spend all my time semi-clothed with flat hippy hair reading Ray Bradbury, listening to 80s Hair Metal and planning the next BBQ I will attend.
Instead me and my coiffed hair will attend meetings where all the attendees will be dressed. There will be nary a brat or vat of potato salad in sight. But, if I’m lucky, I might get them to sing “Talk Dirty to Me.”
Will they at least let you lie on your stomach, in bed, listening to Howard Jones on the radio and writing down all the lyrics in your Trapper Keeper?
No! Which is why I hate them all.