Sig alert failed me again! / by laurel

The world ended today (and by 'world' I mean my sanity). I knew it was bound to happen.

I was driving along the 60 heading West (to Keruoac's--and nobody else's--ragged promised land). Driving is too strong a word...I could say lilting, or halting, and still that implies movement. My car and I were engaged in what obesity doctors like to call "sedentary activity." I was in what driver's ed teachers like to call "a wolf pack" of big rigs and Toyota Corolla's, and was quickly headed down the path of what psychiatrists like to call "a mental breakdown the likes which not even Charles Manson has seen--a truly perfect storm of mental mayhem and personality defectiveness on a Peloponnesian scale."

Maybe psychiatrists (or my pre-graduate school pysch major friends) wouldn't use this classification verbatim. But of course, from my reclined position on their black leather chaise, I would go in for the kill.

"And did I mention that I had been on hold with the utility company for 30 minutes?"

"Hmmm. You were stuck in traffic and you were on hold with the utility company?" He scratches a note on his pad of paper.

"Yes." I pause for dramatic effect. "And there was NO hold music."

"No hold music? No hold music? Ms. Dailey, I hate to say this, but you were headed down the path of a mental breakdown the likes of which not even Charles Manson has seen--a truly perfect storm of mental mayhem and personality defectiveness on a Peloponnesian scale!"

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Doctor."

.........

Back in traffic, I could see the world's end looming on the horizon. And then the Dark Horse came galloping into view--the true end of civilization, or at least the frayed end of my mental rope--in the form of Culture Club's Karma Chameleon.

I had no choice but to sing along.

"Comma comma comma comma comma Chameleeeoooooooooon..." (I can see now that you are wrinkling your nose in mock disgust, O Musical Elitist. 'It's Karma Chameleon,' you'd say, over emphasizing the -r sound, subsequently sounding vaguely British. But I ask you: Does anybody really know the words? I didn't think so.)

"...You come and goooo-ooohhhhhh..."

It was then that I realized that the entire musical world was at war with itself. Devo was hurling Whip It's at Nickelback, who responded with--oh, who am I kidding? Anything in Music World War would kill Nickelback. And this War of the Worlds got me thinking.

If there was a fight between Sigur Ros' lead singer, Sujfan Steven's orchestral theatrics, Wilco and Radiohead, and then everybody tragically died, the ghost that would rise from the rubble would be Broken Social Scene.

In the path of musical armageddon, I'm content to be pushed, pulled, waxed and waned along with the rhythms of You Forget It in People and their self titled masterpiece, Broken Social Scene. It's a specter that doesn't haunt as much as reminds you that your taste in music isn't too shabby.

Even if your mental health is hanging on a thread.