One of my favorite things to do with a morning is go to The Grit and eat breakfast by myself while taking notes for the novel I’m writing that will hopefully be finished by 2034. The Grit is always pretty empty first thing in the morning and it has big, bright windows that face the street and some hipster waiters who are too cool to pay much attention to you. It’s basically like a giant, cool, dimly-lit Cave that Time Forgot.
So, I was in there on Wednesday, and it was great: I ignored the two ladies with insomnia and lactose intolerance and Celiac disease who, in an otherwise empty restaurant, chose to sit in the booth right behind mine. There was some sort of synthesizer something playing somewhere in the background, and that was fine. The waiter kept filling my coffee until I realized I had effectively consumed twice as much coffee than my adrenal system was built for—but hey, I’m an adult and that was my choice.
What ended up running me out of there was Neil Young.
Let me be clear: I really like Neil Young, and After the Gold Rush (the album the waiter put on after the synthesizer fuzz) is one of my favorites. But there’s something about Neil Young that I cannot abide except during the brief temporal window between Labor Day and Thanksgiving. I am strictly a crisp weather Neil Young fan.
Picky, picky, you say. Well, yeah—maybe. But some music is like Christmas music to me--I love Silent Night, but who wants to listen to Silent Night in April? And Neil Young is great, but it makes me feel weird to hear him in June. Actually, not just weird—I have an actual aversion to it. It’s literally the same feeling I get when I’m in a restaurant and there are people making out—like seriously going at it--at the table next to mine. It makes me uncomfortable.
Why, friends, do you think this would be? Everybody else seems okay listening to Neil Young just any old time. Please analyze in the comments.
Who's Neil Young? Was he with Crosby Stills and Nash in the 60's.
ReplyDeleteBelieve I'd find a more listener friendly place to write, seems this fellow breaks your concentration. Like outside.
I know, I know, I ain't hip...but I did go to the Grit once when it was at The Station a zillion years ago. Didn't much care for Humus then, either
Can't wait to read the novel.
Paw
I think this blog has previously mentioned my aversion to Elton John, and my policy of walking out of any room or establishment where his music is playing. Well, today I've added another item to my Walk Out list: the Amelie soundtrack. Ugh, when I hear that accordion lilting to itself so smug in its pop-traditionalism, it makes me groan audibly...
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ReplyDeletefrom YouTube on Amelie soundtrack: "It reminds of remembering. It reminds me of people with whom I've had good times with and people who have made me suffer at the same time. I_t reminds me of friendship."
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