The key to keeping things fresh is to stop doing them.
5th grade. My teacher at the time had a behavior chart that was based on a colored star system. I don’t recall the color correlation to what was bad or good, but I do remember the day I was aiming straight for the bad side of the chart.
The day started as any other day. I am sure I was being loud, doing my work, but still having a good time. Being the occasional class clown has always followed me, which more than likely comes from my brother. I don’t recall what triggered my maniacal drum session that took place, but I am sure at least a handful of my classmates would recall it if I were to bring it up….if I ever contact them again.
The class was quiet, faces stiff with concentration pointing towards their desktops. Perfect time for me to take my behavior to another level. I start playing the drums not only on my desk, but the surrounding student’s as well. The teacher, wish I could remember her name, immediately tells me to stop. I continue. She is yelling for me to quit. POUND POUND POUND, DRUM FILL. Everyone in the class doesn’t know what to do as I continue my mission. Some giggle, some stare, others wonder what the teacher is going to do. POUND, POUND, POUND… cymbal splashes were provided by my best Winslow-esque accuracy. The teacher storms over. I know my solo is coming to end. I slam both hand on my desk as the crescendo reached it’s full level of badness and I close it out with my best cockney accent, THANK YOU! GOOD NIGHT!
I don’t recall if this was my first time to the right of the chart, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t my last.
One evening I was at a friend’s house in the West Village and One Fine Day was on TBS. I was stoked. Then another friend came over and the TV was put on mute. Fuck! I was staring at the television as they carried on about some boys or whatever. I just wanted to watch One Fine Day. They talked, I partially listened yet fully absorbed the mimed spectacle of George Clooney being his charming self and cat woman still looking like a cat. My friend finally took notice that I was just not paying attention to their story. One Fine Day was finally done giving me the silent treatment, but it was too late. The film was just about over. I join back into the conversation, commercials play under our words, the next TBS presentation starts…. They played One Fine Day back to back.
Yelling to my landlord’s dog to shut the f*ck up while I was half asleep probably wasn’t the most thankful thing to do today.
Hindsight: Dude doesn’t shut up, ever. It’s not Christmas.
What if Primo stayed in Texas? Would Southern Rap still have taken over the world? What if the Southern Sound was that of DJ Premier?
Imagine Chris Rock doing an entire stand up act about Whole Foods.