I'm a Little Man. I'm Also Evil, Also Into Cats
Last week my daughter and I switched cars for the day. She's sixteen. I'm, well, older than that. It wasn't a big deal; she's been driving my old Jeep, a car which I love, so I was kind of excited to get back behind the wheel of the old girl.
I climbed in, and after wading through the Starbucks detritus, the textbooks, and the extra shoes and clothes, I found the gearshift, backed out of the garage and turned on the stereo. Part of the joy of trading cars with my kid is trading music, too. Think Freaky Friday without having to go back to high school (two thumbs way up on that one). Anyway, I imagine I got the better part of the deal. She probably found my radio tuned to NPR, poor thing.
Lucky for me, Fall Out Boy's Save Rock and Roll was in the CD player. I could gush now; about how the orchestral notes in the beginning of The Phoenix made me perk up and want more, about the ear-catching rhythmic genius of the chorus, "I'm gonna' change you like a remix, then I'll raise you like a phoenix," or even about the classic 80's metal-inspired scream of "I'm on fire" (read: fiiiiiyaaaa!!) in the chorus of track two, My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark, but I won't.
It's undignified, as a mother, to be thinking of strong backbeats and Fall Out Boy lyrics all day, ("We are the jack-o-lanterns in July, setting fire to the sky") and I won't make it worse by going on and on about how they are, like, soo awesome. I never got past the first two songs on the CD, by the way. They were both so mind-blowingly good I couldn't stop playing them, over and over, at ear-splitting volume.
I'm still in the honeymoon phase with these songs. You know how it goes. The obsession burns white hot and you can't wait to hear them again, to blast them at outrageous volume, till the bass is almost too much, screaming along the whole time. You learn the lyrics and you play games, debating which of the two is the better song. You post links on Facebook with stupid status updates like, "Play this. Then play it again. Repeat." You flirt with the dangerous and completely insane idea of a Fall Out Boy tattoo.
Shameful. I told you.
So it was in this head space that I grabbed some headphones this afternoon and went for a walk. I have an upbeat playlist I use for exercise (see how appropriate and motherly I sound here), and before I left I remembered to add the new Fall Out Boy. I should mention, as it becomes relevant later, that This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race was already on my completely appropriate, upbeat, exercise playlist, thanks to my daughter's good taste and musical influence.
I sprayed myself in SPF 500 and took off down the street with my iPod on shuffle. New Fall Out Boy related game! Every time the song changed, I realized, it could be one of my favorite songs! Fate was with me and it didn't take long for the shuffle gods to play both.
I was pumped. I was right there, puttin' on my warpaint and takin' it back one maniac at a time. I was glad his songs knew what I did in the dark, and I was more than ready to light it up, up, up. And through it all I kept it cool. A nod here, casual eye contact there.
Nothin' to see here, people. Just a woman out for a walk.
I kept it totally under control. I want credit for this, because it wasn't easy. Not one time did I dance, hop, or even mouth the words along to those songs. I didn't fist pump or bang my head, and I certainly didn't sing. I was, after all, on a walk, in a very calm neighborhood. No one else could hear the raging, heart-thumping, anthemic music that was in my ears and rioting through my veins. To everyone else it was a quiet day on a quiet street.
Which is why, I suppose, it was such a big deal when I tragically, inevitably, lost myself in the moment, when I forgot there were people behind me, people who may not have understood why the woman walking ahead of them suddenly thrust her fist into the air and shout-sung, (emphasis on shout), in terrible voice, I'm sure, "I'M A LITTLE MAN...I'M ALSO EVIL, ALSO INTO CATS!"
You see, This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race (a quality Fall Out Boy song in its own right) was on the playlist not only because my daughter suggested it, but because of the now infamous lyrical parody by BeChaotic. Since seeing it, I've never been able to hear anything other than "I'm a little man...I'm also evil, also into cats." That's just how the song goes for me now. And so, in my time of weakness, that's what came out. Loudly and with lots of passion.
I could claim delirium; it was very hot and I hadn't had anything to eat all day. But that would be a cop out. The truth is that Fall Out Boy got me, those first two songs from Save Rock and Roll had me so wrapped up in their spell that when This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race came on I was already gone. I wasn't even aware of those two women and their innocent children in the strollers.
Oh well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to start cultivating my "crazy writer" reputation in the neighborhood. And while it might be an embarrassing bit of hyperbole to say that Fall Out Boy actually ruined my life, the truth is that their music apparently causes me to lose it in public and rock out in ways that frighten small children. And that kind of thing can leave a mark--a big, head-bangin', war-painted mark.
I climbed in, and after wading through the Starbucks detritus, the textbooks, and the extra shoes and clothes, I found the gearshift, backed out of the garage and turned on the stereo. Part of the joy of trading cars with my kid is trading music, too. Think Freaky Friday without having to go back to high school (two thumbs way up on that one). Anyway, I imagine I got the better part of the deal. She probably found my radio tuned to NPR, poor thing.
Lucky for me, Fall Out Boy's Save Rock and Roll was in the CD player. I could gush now; about how the orchestral notes in the beginning of The Phoenix made me perk up and want more, about the ear-catching rhythmic genius of the chorus, "I'm gonna' change you like a remix, then I'll raise you like a phoenix," or even about the classic 80's metal-inspired scream of "I'm on fire" (read: fiiiiiyaaaa!!) in the chorus of track two, My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark, but I won't.
It's undignified, as a mother, to be thinking of strong backbeats and Fall Out Boy lyrics all day, ("We are the jack-o-lanterns in July, setting fire to the sky") and I won't make it worse by going on and on about how they are, like, soo awesome. I never got past the first two songs on the CD, by the way. They were both so mind-blowingly good I couldn't stop playing them, over and over, at ear-splitting volume.
I'm still in the honeymoon phase with these songs. You know how it goes. The obsession burns white hot and you can't wait to hear them again, to blast them at outrageous volume, till the bass is almost too much, screaming along the whole time. You learn the lyrics and you play games, debating which of the two is the better song. You post links on Facebook with stupid status updates like, "Play this. Then play it again. Repeat." You flirt with the dangerous and completely insane idea of a Fall Out Boy tattoo.
Shameful. I told you.
So it was in this head space that I grabbed some headphones this afternoon and went for a walk. I have an upbeat playlist I use for exercise (see how appropriate and motherly I sound here), and before I left I remembered to add the new Fall Out Boy. I should mention, as it becomes relevant later, that This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race was already on my completely appropriate, upbeat, exercise playlist, thanks to my daughter's good taste and musical influence.
I sprayed myself in SPF 500 and took off down the street with my iPod on shuffle. New Fall Out Boy related game! Every time the song changed, I realized, it could be one of my favorite songs! Fate was with me and it didn't take long for the shuffle gods to play both.
I was pumped. I was right there, puttin' on my warpaint and takin' it back one maniac at a time. I was glad his songs knew what I did in the dark, and I was more than ready to light it up, up, up. And through it all I kept it cool. A nod here, casual eye contact there.
Nothin' to see here, people. Just a woman out for a walk.
I kept it totally under control. I want credit for this, because it wasn't easy. Not one time did I dance, hop, or even mouth the words along to those songs. I didn't fist pump or bang my head, and I certainly didn't sing. I was, after all, on a walk, in a very calm neighborhood. No one else could hear the raging, heart-thumping, anthemic music that was in my ears and rioting through my veins. To everyone else it was a quiet day on a quiet street.
Which is why, I suppose, it was such a big deal when I tragically, inevitably, lost myself in the moment, when I forgot there were people behind me, people who may not have understood why the woman walking ahead of them suddenly thrust her fist into the air and shout-sung, (emphasis on shout), in terrible voice, I'm sure, "I'M A LITTLE MAN...I'M ALSO EVIL, ALSO INTO CATS!"
You see, This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race (a quality Fall Out Boy song in its own right) was on the playlist not only because my daughter suggested it, but because of the now infamous lyrical parody by BeChaotic. Since seeing it, I've never been able to hear anything other than "I'm a little man...I'm also evil, also into cats." That's just how the song goes for me now. And so, in my time of weakness, that's what came out. Loudly and with lots of passion.
I could claim delirium; it was very hot and I hadn't had anything to eat all day. But that would be a cop out. The truth is that Fall Out Boy got me, those first two songs from Save Rock and Roll had me so wrapped up in their spell that when This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race came on I was already gone. I wasn't even aware of those two women and their innocent children in the strollers.
Oh well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to start cultivating my "crazy writer" reputation in the neighborhood. And while it might be an embarrassing bit of hyperbole to say that Fall Out Boy actually ruined my life, the truth is that their music apparently causes me to lose it in public and rock out in ways that frighten small children. And that kind of thing can leave a mark--a big, head-bangin', war-painted mark.
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