Anyway, so I'm sitting here as the sun goes down on another summer day. I've got the Lemonheads Come On Feel playing, which, for some reason I felt like breaking out. It's a really good album, despite the presence of a couple non-essential tracks (the "Rick James Style" version of "Style," and the "Jello Fund," - the obligatory "hidden track full of gibberish," why, 90's, why?). Nonetheless, this is one of the "minor summer album," shuffle pack I put together the other morning. In fact, let's run them down: In the #1 slot on my CD player: the Lemonheads, Come On Feel The Lemonheads.
Slot #2: Pavement, Brighten The Corners.
Slot the Third: Spoon, Kill The Moonlight.
Fourth Slot: Papas Fritas, Helioself.
Fifth & Final Slot: Wilco, Summerteeth.
In no way an essential list, but still a good mix of stuff to keep your summer rolling. What is it about summer that's so dang alluring? For some reason, you say the word and I'm all a-quiver, like I'm going to get out of school for three months or something. Even growing up in the blazing furnace of Las Vegas, I still get all nostalgic for bike rides, swimming pools, baseball cards and sleep-overs.
Oh man, I just thought of something. You know how there are things that have no names, but should? Like, I dunno "the spirit of the staircase," or something? There should be a name for that feeling in your hip when you wake up on your friends floor after a sleep-over - that dull ache on whatever side you slept on with just a blanket or two between you and the ground. It's some kind of sacrifice, that dull ache in trade for a night talking about nothing until you pass out contented with the TV on playing some dumb movie (RunningMan! Leviathan! Predator!), or the radio humming to itself in the midnight.
A dull ache in your hip in exchange for friendship. I'd say that's a fair trade.
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