Baby There’s No Guidance When Random Rules
Memes are the lazy, overworked blogger’s best friend. Here’s our annotated iPod shuffle questionnaire, which if nothing else suggests that we are living in the past, but not in a stinky-Boomer-hey-man-we-ended-the-war-in-‘Nam kind of way but in a huffy-prick-who-hates-everything-and-bores-people-with-stories-about-how-we-drank-beer-with-Legs-McNeil-that-one-time kind of way. Which we never do, but still … only four of the songs that came up were released during this century.
How does the world see you?
“Just a Friend,” Biz Markie. OK, we’ll take that. The Biz is perhaps best known for his clownish demeanor and his dogged pursuit of the fairer sex … although we could do without all the exposition. All that shit about him signing in at the gate and trying to find the girl’s dorm room sort of unnecessarily delays the “Oh, snap! Guess what I saw?” dénouement.
Will I have a happy life?
“Back in Black,” AC/DC. Sounds like a no, but then again, what the fuck is the guy with the silly hat even singing about here? Would have preferred one of their more grotesquely parodic songs, like “Big Balls,” but there you have it.
What do my friends really think of me?
“Shocker in Gloomtown,” The Breeders. That this is a GBV cover certainly suggests a free-fall into alcoholic dissolution, plus there’s the whole Kelly-Deal-Has-[Or Had]-Big-Problems element. Because it’s a Bob Pollard composition, the lyrics actually don’t mean anything, but there’s something telling about the last verse: “So tell me: How the hell did we miss it? / Bared his ass for all to see / and no one got to kiss it.”
Do people secretly lust after me?
“Everything’s Worse,” Giant Drag. That’s generally the sentiment expressed by the ladies after they’ve made their secret lust for us not secret anymore.
How can I make myself happy?
“I Don’t Care About You,” Fear. Shit, this thing is like a fucking Ouija board.
What should I do with my life?
“Methamphetamine Blues,” Mark Lanegan Band. Next.
Will I ever have children?
“A Wolf at the Door,” Radiohead. Another spooky response, if the chorus is anything to go by: “I keep the wolf from the door / But he calls me up / Calls me on the phone / Tells me all the ways that he’s gonna mess me up /
Steal all my children if I don’t pay the ransom / And I’ll never see them again if I squeal to the cops.”
What is some good advice for me?
“Search and Destroy,” The Stooges. And here’s our advice to you, Iggy: Invest in a few shirts. How do you get past the maitre d’?
How will I be remembered?
“Jesus,” The Velvet Underground. Heh.
What is my signature dancing song?
“We Don’t Make Each Other Laugh Anymore,” Arab Strap. This is almost perfect. We stopped dancing in bars and in our apartment when we stopped living with The Ballerina, aka The Girl Formerly Known As The Girlfriend of Sakebomb. We stopped living with The Ballerina when she we made her cry more than we made her laugh.
What do I think my current theme song is?
“I Wanna Know Girls,” Portastatic. Hmmm. “I wanna know girls, don’t wanna know men / I’m already stuck inside the head of one of them.”
What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
“Your Phone’s Off the Hook (But You’re Not),” X. “All of New York is a tow-away zone.”
What song will play at my funeral?
“Road to Nowhere,” Talking Heads. This is spookier than discovering that Tyne Daly is now the hot one from Cagney & Lacey.
What type of women do you like?
“Sunday Girl,” Blondie. “I know a girl from a lonely street / Cold as ice cream, but still as sweet.”
What is my day going to be like?
“Julie’s Been Working for the Drug Squad,” The Clash. We certainly hope not.