Today I realized that I sneer at my inbox when I don't have any new e-mail. This is a little weird. But not as weird, I think, as the declaration in the NPR blog comments that the staff's
experiment with a roll of Mentos and a bottle of Diet Coke was "off the cheese." I don't have any idea where that person came up with that nugget of slang, but I'm dying to know. Are there legions of people in cafes across the U.S., or even just select states, laughing and exclaiming, "That's off the cheese!" Someone, please tell me.
Sleep on the floor, dream about me
Wednesday, April 12
The other day I read an entry on
Choppa titled, "Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me," from Broken Social Scene's "Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl." I didn't know the song, but the lyrics wooed me into tracking it down for a listen. In an act of fate, I discovered that someone had sent it to Shan, and she sent it to me. We discussed at length how it was a pity the beginning was so annoying, because the end was so good. I said I thought if I listened to it enough, it might grow on me. Some songs are like that; even if you dislike them at first, you can hear some whisper inside, calling you.
I was right; I've had it on repeat for 20 minutes now, and I can't seem to want to stop. It's like a heartbeat, regular and soothing. It's only spring right now, but this song sounds like summer, and I can already see myself lying on the floor with the evening sun slanting in the window, listening over and over and over, and it will be like time has stopped.
