So … I’m watching Neil Young sing the theme to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air on Jimmy Fallon courtesy of teh Hulu, and the clickety clickety tells me OOOOOH, Pixies are playing on Jimmy Fallon, too.
I cannot abide Jimmy Fallon. Long story. Don’t ask. But he does have good musical acts. So I click on the clip, and they’re playing “Debaser.” Which is awesome.
Until two different trains at opposite ends of the track leave two different stations at two different speeds, one thinking GODDAMN, the Pixies are still awesome, got to dig out my CDs and listen to them in the car while I toodle around in my beige ’03 station wagon picking up groceries for thanksgiving, including the apricot preserves for my special cranberry chutney (ok, fine, Orangette’s, make it, your family will PLOTZ), and the other train chugs out thinking things like Black Francis is chunky, I already knew that, and Kim Deal’s hair looks really glossy, and David Lovering’s glasses are neat, kind of German-looking, he looks like that guy in the store yesterday who bought two biographies on Ayn Rand and wouldn’t it be cool if he was, and then … bam.
The trains crashed.
And no, I don’t know where or what time. I suck at word problems.
No. I realized this.
I am going to pop the Pixies into the dash of my station wagon and rock out while I go pick up my organic groceries for Thanksgiving, when my very cute nephew will eat with his teeth!!! and my Dad will declaim about something and a good time and far, far too much food will be had.
I’m that woman in that VW commercial from a few years ago– anyone remember that particular one? Come on. You know the one I’m talking about.
And you know what?
It’s awesome. I love 35. I am gonna go put on my women’s college baseball cap, my clogs and my fleece, and rock out while I pick up some groceries.
Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.