"Pour some sugar on me"

FADE IN: INT. Medicine Hall. Norman, Oklahoma. Night. A group of misguided youths gather for a brew and listen to a distorted, equally misguided emo band. ANA is half-listening to the band, half-engaged in a conversation with MATT, a rightfully pretentious piano major. Also with them is TIM, a computer technician who has brittle, crunchy black hair -- most likely the result of too much hair gel -- and wears a flannel shirt because there was no time to change clothes in between rounds of Dune and Grand Theft Auto. Tim brought AARON who also, due to his computer addiction, has not seen daylight or a razor in three days. The BAND tricks the audience into thinking that they are simply shoegazers, who rely on memorizing parabolic destruction to confect this seemingly innocent math rock. Nay, my friend, if Burroughs were a rock star, this would be he.

BAND (in the tone of fiberglass with crashing guitar chords)

Don’t leave me now. Don’t leave me know.

MATT

This has too many highs and lows. Not enough transition. I can’t handle it.

BAND (whiny like a castrati who just lost his will to live)

I love you. I love you.

BAND falls into embryonic positions on the beer-soaked, cigarette-laden floor.

MATT

White noise is B flat. The minor tone is emitted from amps, televisions, and the ringing you’ll hear in your ears tonight after leaving this godforsaken place.

ANA (forlorn and dreamily captivated)

But what does it all mean?

MATT
God is B flat. He is everywhere.

TIM

Well, why don’t we just start our own boy band? Matt will be the individual who has his personality. I will be the charismatic one with all the right moves. John will be the unattainable teenage heartthrob. I guess Aaron will have to be the antisocial one since he does that so well.

AARON

Why do I have to be the antisocial one?

TIM

You need to get on Paxil, Aaron.

AARON

No way. Side effects include nausea, uncontrollable appetite, constipation, diarrhea, memory loss, hair loss, weight loss, weight gain, insomnia, drowsiness.

MATT

You know what we really need? A no-armed drummer. Def Leppard was noticed for their one-armed drummer. We need a no-armed drummer. We’ll just attach drumsticks to his shoulders. The animation will be incredible -- ticket sales will be huge.

FADE OUT

Journal entry circa August 21, 2001. I found this while searching for an old document that might help me organize my work. Track funders, grantwriters, etc. Then I stumbled upon my old e-journal and these random notes from an inebriated night in Norman, Oklahoma. Starting a band with a no-armed drummer doesn’t sound so bad after all.