The Cairo Complex

[Usual white backdrop with usual music] 

PC: Hello, I’m a PC.

Mac: And I’m a Mac.

Linux [Jumping in from off screen with a big smile. Linux is wearing jeans, flip-flops, a whacky t-shirt, an old tweed blazer, and thick framed glasses. A mash up, he’s got tattoos on his arms and a boyish charm. Part geek, part hippy, part punk]: MAC!!!

Mac: Linux! What’s up, man?

PC [A bit snarkily]: And who might this be, Mac? Another one of your “friends,” I assume.

Mac: Oh! Linux, this is PC. Linux is kind of like my cousin. You could say we’re cut from the same kernal.

Linux [Presenting a bag of candy and holding some out as if to offer to Mac and PC]: I brought snacks!

Mac [Holding out hands to accept some treats]: He loves to share.

PC [Arms folded, PC’s already had enough.]: Uh. No thanks, I don’t really like sharing. And… I don’t really know where you’ve been. [Raising finger as if making a point, turning and walking away] Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to configure some things.

Linux [Super excited and walking after PC]: Oh! I love configuring things!

PC [Looking over shoulder a bit frightened and starting to nerdishly jog quickly away]

Linux [Chasing after PC]: Oh, come on, where’s the love? Open up a little!

Mac [Charmingly smiles and shrugs shoulders at camera]

[End]

Obviously, since I missed out on being the Mac, I’d want to be cast as Linux :)

I listened to Sublime’s self-titled album on the way to work this morning and by the end, I had formed a pretty solid opinion on what I perceived to be the band’s “purpose.” It was all negative, and I was determined to write a post deriding the band’s low message (especially the misogyny, misguided malcontent and under-the-influence nihilism), but realized the futility in trying to denounce a now defunct group with such a dedicated following.

I will say this, though: I don’t think I’ve ever listened to a band that seemed to more aggressively declare the tenants of slackerdom than Sublime. It just seems so inherently self-contradicting.

And for the record (my record, if nothing else), I can pinpoint the exact moment that I lost hope on this album. It’s about halfway through the song “April 29, 1992,” when Brad Nowell seemingly claims that seeing a woman steal pampers from a drug store during the L.A. riots somehow justifies his theft of alcohol and musical equipment as a legitimate act of civil disobedience. If he were alive (and I, for some reason, had the opportunity to talk to him), I would say “no, Brad, it just shows the danger of privileged suburban youth getting their drug-fueled delusions of grandeur confused with ‘street prophecy’.” But he’d probably just call me a punk ass.