A girl becoming a woman is not doing any studying for her business law class she takes en route to a Master’s degree. She drinks white wine tonight, and she listens to a record on the radio. She is irritated that she once read something about Billy Corgan’s lyrics not ‘holding up under close scrutiny.’
Now every time she hears them she can’t forget the line about the close scrutiny.
The bar lights of art, she supposes.
She exchanges the following with a male friend also engaged in an MBA program:
She: I’ve always put off getting into the Flaming Lips because I know their shit is all over the place. That said, I think “Yoshimi” is outstanding, and I was wondering if you could recommend another of their albums.
He: The Soft Bulletin is the best thing they’ve done. Great f’n album. I’ve got another one called Clouds Taste Metallic that aint half bad. A lot of the other older stuff is just crap.
She: Did you like “Yoshimi”?
He: Oh yeah. I’d still say Soft Bulletin is better, but I definitely dig Yoshimi. All the hippie/jamband kids are getting into the Lips now because they blew everyone away at Bonnaroo last summer. Apparently they played like a 4-hour set, including a cover of Dark Side of the Moon while the Wizard of Oz played on a big screen behind them. I’ve seen them a couple times now. They’re big on the theatrics.
These are white people, you think. They must be white people.
Or, these are the people who suggested taking the skinheads bowling? No, they were from Out West, and California is deceptively nonwhite.
The color doesn’t matter, as long as you are not applying to one of these fancy business schools in the University of California system. Well, color doesn’t legally matter, but it still matters.
It always matters.