Friday, June 17, 2005

I'd Like to Grab That

The DJs on my radio station get a little punchy on Friday mornings. The usual progression of my morning show goes from phone-in contest, to conversation of Seinfeld-esque issue (Didja ever notice that when there's gonna be a hurricane, people always rush to the grocery store? And that they always buy hot dog buns? What's up with that?), to the reading of daily horoscopes at 6:30, after which I leave my car and head for the train platform. On Fridays, though, the DJs tend to sing along to that "sunshine day" song from the Brady Bunch movie, or run through thirty seconds of fifteen different songs trying to find the best way to kick off the weekend.

Today, the first thing I heard on the radio was "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger.

This was, of course, followed by thirty second segments of "I Like to Move it," "OPP," "The Tootsie Roll," and several other seventh-grade dance in the gym favorites, but I was stuck thinking about Mr. Danger.

What happens to celebrities so slight that even a show like Hit Me Baby, One More Time wouldn't deign to invite them? What do you do after your fame registers a blip so slight on the America's air traffic control screen that most of us just rub our eyes and pretend it didn't happen? I mean, Harvey has to make his living somehow. Does he sing back-up in Vegas reviews, starting from the bottom again with a snappy new name (Johnny Jeopardy? Percy Peril? Rodney Risk? Man, someone pass me the butter, cause I'm on a roll!) and praying for the remaining twelve and a half minutes of his allotted fame? Or did he give up altogether? Did he enroll at ITT Technical Institute? Does his resume list "Tiny Pop-Culture Footnote" as his current employment?

I worry a little bit for the Harvey Dangers, and I hope they're not lonely. Maybe they get together. Maybe there's a Former Tiny Celebrity Poker League, or Quilting Circle. Maybe Harvey invites them all over to his apartment on Sundays so the whole gang--Harvey, Soy Bomb, Sporty Thievz, everybody--can drink lemonade and make squares for a giant quilt of former near-stardom.

One of the members of Sporty Thievz stitches a corduroy X over a gray flannel pigeon. They all share a hearty laugh.

I'm heading out soon, today being a summer-hours Friday. I've gotta pick up my little brother from school after his regents exams, and I'm thinking a trip to Taco Bell may be in order after six hours of bubble-filling. Tonight I may indulge my (shameful? I haven't decided yet.) desire to see the new Batman movie, despite the fact that I'll have to look at Katie Holmes's crazy face for two hours. This was filmed pre-Tom Cruise, though, so at least she won't have that pregnancy glow Scientological gleam in her eye.

In the name of Friday, an unintentionally poetic CraigsList post:

Crossing 20th Street

I was driving and checking you out.
You were walking on 4th Ave and
crossing 20th St. You are pretty
tall and have a big package.

I'd like to grab that package.


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