My lords and ladies, sometimes, we have moments we aren't particularly proud of. This is not one of them.
Our country is currently going through a period of intense transition that will no doubt be immortalized in history books. The Great Depression, The Gilded Age, The Industrial Revolution. And now, as we realize our mighty republic has fallen into, and out of that mighty crucible of times that shapes of all of us, the patriarchy too, has become a Fake-triarchy. We have to face it--the law is in our hands now.
After enduring the seemingly endless "garage sale" next door, a thought entered my head. Small at first, smaller even than the space between the tables piled high with reusable refuse and crumpled up coloring books. But then it grew, ballooning out of my head and into the last part of my brain not being bombarded by yet another 90's country song from their beat-up boombox, which was the only thing I could see being "as advertised." What cruel irony that it was not, in fact, for sale.
Somewhere between the line about the truck, and the gun, and the broke-down heart and lonesome bark of coonhound, the strangest thing happened. Seemingly of its own accord, our Google Home migrated from its normal location to the only open window in our house on this sweltering Sunday.
"Hey Google, please play 'Back Dat Ass Up on repeat.'"
"Sure thing," I heard Google say, "playing 'Back DAT Ass UP.'"
The dulcet tones of Ellen DeGeneres' go-to club song melted into the lilting lyrics of a man who clearly was doing his best impression of what he thought Johnny Cash should sound like. In a moment, a cauchopahanous symphony was born, strains of banjo and dubstep colliding in a musical reverie that somehow fit my mood for the next several hours as cars (and I believe people) cleared the driveway.
Taking time to write this, I reflect on other memorable, musical, moments in my life. It occurs to me as I see the neighbors putting out a sign for the sale to be re-opened tomorrow, that I have not practiced violin for, my goodness, ten years? There truly is no time like the present... although perhaps I can wait, pace myself, and take it up tomorrow morning on the back porch and enjoy the sunshine as I continue my part in taking down the Fake-triarchy. If only I could find one of the five tuners in my house. Well, I suppose I can admit that is a lie. There are only four.
Prepare, don't panic,
-Allison
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