Yes, yes, that would be fitting.
Necessary, because I promised.
Sufficient, because the party got cancelled because of the stomach flu outbreak. Then because of snow. They need…interest on this payment. The usual performance of the Chicken Dance wouldn’t cut it.
I shut off the shower, dressed, and went out to the rest of the day.
To a casual observer, the evening gig might have seemed a temporary bout of insanity. Ms. A said so as I cued up.
“You’re crazy.”
Yes. But…
She hasn’t sat in a sound booth countless sweaty Friday nights, watching punk vocalists destroy mics. There’s a certain stance, and a way to plant your feet. Carl Jung talks about the collective unconscious. The posture of “cookie monster vocals” is both universal and while imitated, retains a bit of instinct in it, a strong pointer to this phenomenon.
(We just know.)
She hasn’t sat outside on sunny days, watching the chickens forage, and their backwards knees run after another when she catches a slug or snail. How they are nature’s punks, with automatic mohawks and a look so ridiculous it’s fierce.
A great artist studies his environment, and gives generously to his audience.
I got the turkey onsie at a Target two hundred miles away. It’s traveled with me.
This evening, it was to represent a chicken. A rooster, actually.
“Not all music is supposed to be beautiful. Sometimes it can channel the rage you feel when they keep stealing all your hen’s eggs.”
A collective “huh?”
I leaned into the mic.
Bawwwwwwwwk.
Then I dropped a heavy metal cover of The Chicken Dance.
The poor seniors at their retirement home. Never know what it’s gonna be ‘round here.
Also, Happy Valentine’s Day. It’s funny what love does to us. I heard about a male bald eagle locking talons with his lady during a courtship flight, and forgetting to let go as they fell towards the ground.
He died.
Poor fella, I know how he feels. At least it’s the honorable way to go.
Then there was that one time I bombed while leading a salsa dance with a beautiful girl, and instead of a gracious “thank you” handshake, I had to go ahead and do the dap/shoulder bump.
We were both mortified.
In the spirit of the day, here’s a favorite song about all that.
–Josh