Tuesday, January 18, 2005

She / She's Figured Out / All Her Doubts Were Someone Else's Point Of View

After a shopping spree on a bargain basement Russian MP3 site, I'm listening to nothing but Green Day today. In fact, I'll go so far as to declare today Old-School Green Day (Day), and encourage anyone capable to spend as much time as possible listening to the song She and thinking fondly of me, at my desk, resenting authority.

In related Green Day news, I think their new album is fantastic. There's this melancholy, grown-up edge to the record that makes me intensely nostalgic for my former punk rock days which, curiously, never existed.

I may actually be the anti-punk; I did a Crunch Fitness aerobic workout last night from my house in the suburbs after watching Jeopardy! and wondering which pair of stockings are most work-appropriate. [Author's note: Shut up.] The workout video does satisfy my health-conscious conscience, but I'm not sure if it's worth feeling like a total dweeb while admitting I'm walking so funny today because of a "pilates injury". My thighs are on fire.

The thing about workout videos is that they haven't changed even a smidge since their inception. You can call it "pilates," you can call it "power yoga," you can call it "step aerobics," or you can call it "Sweatin' to the Oldies," but any way you package it, it's still eight fit middle-aged women doing the very same routine you know they whip out after six gin and tonics when the DJ spins Funkytown at their cousin's wedding. Still, they can proudly wear a two-piece Spandex outfit, so I have no right to point fingers. [Author's note: Just try and stop me.]

I did do more than pilates during my three-day weekend, though none of it was particularly noteworthy. Kai and I spent an unforgivable amount of time at the good Starbucks. Like a couple of Jane Goodalls armed with grande chai lattes and the ability to communicate through our eyebrows alone, we passed the time observing the mating rituals of two teenage couples. The first strikingly resembled Ashlee Simpson and Ryan Cabrera. We ascertained that the boy was probably a recent vegan (Ashlee: "Wanna go to Wendy's?" Ryan: "Wendy's is so, like, processed."), the girl frequents Starbucks and talks on her cell phone much more than she is willing to admit, and they were both likely in college but in that high-school relationship long-distance dating hangover.

The second couple, much to our cruel delight, broke up right in front of us. Honestly, I wasn't happy that they were breaking up--but it was absolutely fascinating to watch. If they hadn't had their emotional scene, I would've been stuck looking at the vile "guitar face" on the guy practicing his blues riffs two tables away. [Author's note: WHO PRACTICES THEIR INSTRUMENT AT STARBUCKS? I'm taking up the Sousaphone, and I'm taking up right next to the pastry case.]

Anyway, the boy, who was the dumper, hadn't planned his evening well. They arrived visibly angry with each other. After buying a delicious looking torte (which, to Kai's great dismay, went uneaten), the boy said something to the girl that made her storm out. The boy sat there for a while looking depressed and then...

(This is the best part. This part is so good. This part is so very, very good)

...left to join her in the car because he didn't have a license and she had to drive him home.

I can't say I miss being fifteen.


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