the fridge

I’m still listening to this Dust album.

no, that’s a lie! a damn lie. only seven words in, and I’m already lying. I’m only listening to a particular song from this Dust album. I happen to think it’s the best track, is all.

that opinion has definitely been affected by an early presentation; I originally heard this tune at a record store a few weeks ago, and I went home and looked it up, and what’s the first thing I found? this video. a dreamer, some savant with a decent amount of time on their hands, took a Dust song and laid it over a scene from Vercingétorix, a French movie about the eponymous historical chieftain who, after leading a Gallic revolt, has to give it up to occupying Roman legions in 52 BC.

in this scene, Vercingétorix — no doubt expertly played by the Highlander himself (Christopher Lambert), though I haven’t seen the movie yet — leaves his battered encampment while his warriors and his woman look on stoically and rides to lay his sword at the feet of the Roman commander. the scene is epic. and Lambert’s moustache, through it all, could stop traffic.

but back to the particulars of the video. it was uploaded on, what. the date says February 21. so that means that sometime back in January or February, somebody was watching Vercingétorix, probably laid out on a couch in Montreal, and thought (in French) something like: holy smokes. damn. this movie is sweet.

next, they most likely reached for a bag of potato chips. they secured a chip. ate a chip. and then they thought: you know what would work with this scene? that fuckin’ bad-ass Dust song, that’s what. that one with the three or four killer riffs and a 16-year-old Marky Ramone drumming like a goddamn mad man.

all of this, they thought in French.

and that’s probably how it happened. one thing lead to another, a doob was probably smoked, and now we’ve got this video. and sometimes I love this age of mass, shareable media that we live in. I’m glad someone was out there thinking this, because I get it; I am on board. we are on the same wavelength. we are going to do great things. and now I need to see Vercingétorix.

the fridge

the fridge

I took a picture of my fridge. it has come to this.

I was stumbling around my apartment the other day and a cold reality dawned on me: my fridge is easily the most interesting piece of furniture in my home. I know, yes, it’s an appliance and not furniture, but my couch? It’s just a couch and not exciting at all. I do not have magnets and shit all over my couch. so let’s talk about the fridge.

my dad, my brother, they’ve got bare fridge doors. and I don’t understand that. I mean, you have a magnetic door in the middle of your kitchen! fridges practically call out to you: I, your fridge, am centrally located. action takes place here, near me. hang something on me, your pal, the fridge.

could be it takes a certain kind of person to hear that. I hear it. so let’s look close, let’s start up top.

that’s a magnet of the great state of Oklahoma halfway up the left of the freezer door. next to it is a recent yearbook picture of my mom, the special education teacher. across the way in the top right we’ve got a postcard from my cousin, Caitlin in Hong Kong, from her recent vacation to Thailand where it looks very tropical and inviting. below that we’ve got another yearbook picture, that of my buddy Dave from what’s probably 1991. from this middle of this jungle there’s Jack Kennedy and his steady gaze. and to the top left, a postcard letting you know just what Texas thinks of the rest of us, sent to me by my friend Rachana.

down on the fridge door, we’ve got the most beautiful one-off drawing my niece has ever scrawled out; a save-the-date magnet for some sort of get-together that my sister and this guy Dave are throwing next month; at bottom right the sheet music for Bach’s Bouree in E Minor, one of the handful of songs I can still play from memory a dozen years after taking thirteen-straight years of piano lessons; and, replete with dripping wine stain, a Sunday school class picture from the Protection of the Virgin Mary Orthodox Church in Gary, Indiana, circa 1928. there are a ton of kids in that picture. my grandma and Aunt Olga are in the third row.

there is nothing worth eating inside this fridge. there’s half of a half gallon of milk, a few oranges. I’ve got some yogurt going. and there’s a six pack of beer that has been in there so long that it’s lucky I don’t ask it for rent money.

but on the outside, on the fridge door, there’s a lot going on. not so carefully cultivated. it’s just a little bouillon cube for this Soup Called Life. happy mother’s day, everybody.


2 comments so far

  1. Tasha on

    I have never understood a naked fridge.

    • dudeokay on

      see Tasha? you get it. how’s Boston?

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