Five Song Friday: About Last Night
This Week: Cigarettes, Air Guitar and Sugar Pop
They call it Black Friday.
It’s the day you’re supposed to wave your credit cards in the air and spend like you just don’t care.
It’s the day you’re supposed to look at your perfectly good television and think, I could do better. I could do bigger.
I deserve to see every one of Lester Holt’s pores.
Black Friday comes every year, immediately following the night you ate like an idiot.
You remember that night, right?
It was last night.
It was Thanksgiving.
It was the night you acted like mashed potatoes, stuffing and rolls were drugs, your mouth was a toilet and the DEA just busted down the front door.
The night you made a joke about “doing gravy shots,” but you were not kidding.
The night you complained about the plates being too small, and people laughed… so you laughed too.
It was just yesterday.
You probably still have crumbs in your beard.
It was the night you went in for seconds like it was your goddamn mission.
Like you promised a kid with cancer that you would put away two full plates and there was no way you were going to let Little Jimmy down.
It was the night you were wrapping up the desserts and some cheesecake got on your finger and then the knife slipped and cut a piece that was maybe too big to eat with your hands but you did it anyway because nobody was watching.
You remember?
It was the night with the meatballs.
You had ONE, and your very next thought was to pull up a chair to the appetizer table. But you didn’t.
You did Google “how many meatballs can humans safely eat.”
But you ignored the results because “who cares what the Mayo Clinic says anyway.”
Of course you remember.
It was the night you dreamed up a Ziploc fanny pack for men that could hold hot finger foods (with side pockets for assorted sauces).
You even sketched a prototype on a napkin, next to the words “China factory,” “Shark Tank” and “corndog holster.”
It was the night where you had to remind yourself that “the cheese is for everybody.”
It was the night you imagined your belt talking to you like Scotty from Star Trek.
“I dunno if she can take anymore, Captain!”
That was last night.
And today, your email inbox is full of deals that WILL NOT LAST.
Today, the big box stores want you to remember the little crab balls and how many of them you put into your mouth.
They want you to remember how easy it was to start eating and not stop.
And they want you to do the same thing but with air fryers, robot vacuums and smart watches.
They want you to see pasta machines, ear buds and fuzzy slippers as bacon-wrapped scallops that will not wait around forever.
They want you to keep your overindulgence in high gear. They want you to believe that your appetite for stuff is just as insatiable as your passion for hot dips.
My advice? Don’t fall for it.
Because no matter how deep the discounts get on things like Ninja blenders, massage guns and crock pots?
You cannot eat them.
They are not the victory lap dinner roll you used to polish your plate clean of turkey, cranberries, gravy and mashed potatoes…
… and they never will be.
Sincerely,
DJ CrankyPete
Five Song Friday 091
“Get Down Tonight” - Stereo Total
I am thankful for KC and the Sunshine Band covers from French-German electronica duos, specifically this one from these folks.
“Old Downtown’” - Camp Claude
I am thankful for slow-burn dream pop from Paris that sounds like cigarettes, whiskey and a dash of molasses.
“Double Dreaming’” - Bad//Dreams
I am thankful for energetic, pop rock from Australia that allows me to play air guitar with furious inaccuracy AND sing along to a some “Woop Woos.”
“Fever Boy’” - FEMME
I am thankful for quirky British sugar pop with hand claps and “Ayy Ohs” that sounds like it was recorded during a sleepover with a toy piano.
“Can Anybody Hear Me” - Gravy Train
I am thankful for flute-filled British prog rock that is more than fifty years old but still sounds like a bunch of dudes from Cleveland in 2023 who wanted to mash-up Jethro Tull and Spinal Tap.
“You can't really dust for vomit.” - Nigel Tufnel