The sound of browsing vinyl is truly delicious. For some people, its luscious SLIP FLIP SLIP FLIP is a sound that rivals even that of the crashing of tides or the rustling of leaves. It's like a lover's sigh or the cool, clean sound of money being counted.
For Paz, it puts her in a state of clean meditation, more powerful than a thousand monks throat-singing in tandem. The combination of this noise with the very real tactility of plastic slip covers over the paper encasing the records that makes it religion. Instead of incense, she has the musty and beautiful perfume of freshly pressed vinyl and printer's ink. Every time she gets a moment to be truly alone in this space she is transformed into the thirsty and half starved pilgrim that stumbles finally into the promise land.
At this moment she is in a state of trance, not really looking for anything in particular. She's already been here for a half hour, though it only seems like a couple of minutes to her. Paz could care less whether either Ingrid or Ian came to find her at this point.
Flip Slip Flip Slip Flip Slip Flip Slip Flip Slip Flip Slip Flip Slip Flip Slip.
In Soundgarden, the vinyl section is also a place where the truly empowere hipster is safe. Shielded and protected by the lack of trendy and pop releases, any hipster can look through whatever section of records they wanted without any of their peers discovering them looking through their guilty pleasures (Paz has a hidden passion for Justin Timberlake and Ashlee Simpson, a love which, though shared by most hipsters, is never really discussed. Bubblegum hits are kind of like the abusive father of the hipster's music tastes).
Flip Slip Flip Sl- Paz pauses from her spell and listens to the tune pumping out of the store speakers:
You say it's coming, do you know when…
It's not very often that Paz ever breaks her browsing stride, but this time it's different. She stands there, fingers frozen in their half-flipping pose as she follows every note, drools over every syllable:
All of my thoughts are closing in, they might be wrong they might begin…
With a sudden momentum, she propels herself to the front counter where the Curly Haired Boy is bobbing his head and pricing Cds.
“Hey, what's on right now?”
He looks up from his work, sporting a look of annoyance (this pretty much comes with the territory at any independent record store- you always have to be inconvenienced by doing your job). “It’s Folksongs for the Afterlife,” he points to the very obvious “Now Playing” rack that is prominently displaying the album right in front of Paz's face.
“Oh. Thanks. They’re really great.” Damn. I sounded way too interested there. Man, there goes my Indy cred.
This time he doesn't look up from his task, “I know. They’re totally NYC, but underground. Not like that played-out Interpol.”
“Have you seen them live?”
Curly Haired Boy lets out a little scoff under his breath, “Yeah, right. They're so beyond touring right now. It's like I said, right now they're totally underground. It's just some chick that writes all of the lyrics and music and has some people to back her. I mean, they’re into it to, but it's all her. No industry bullshit.”
Paz sighs and walks away to go look for the “F” section, mouthing No Industry Bullshit. She weaves in and out of the salivating tourists, the disaffected Indies and the bored Locals. He was probably one of those total retards all through school. I bet he totally was one of those kids that wore tie-dye shirts with big stupid raccoons or howling wolves with American Indian catch phrases about the environment on them. And now, perfectly, just because he never got laid when he should have, he finds it the best payment to the world to exploit his uber-nerdiness onto the rest of us by being a complete and utter jack-ass, even when confronted by someone who wants to be nice to him! Argh! It’s a circle of violence, that’s what it is. Did I just pass the “F”s? Yeah, I totally did. Damn.
She turns around and begins to retrace her steps.
“Jesus! Man, Tevon, you’re like some creepy stalker. How long have you been there?”
“Long enough, senorita. Find anything good?”
She grabs the Folksongs for the Afterlife CD and holds it up to him. “Yeah, actually. You should hear these guys. No wait- on second thought, they’re not bellicose, guitar-smashing angry boy music.” Paz smiles with satisfaction as she snatches it out of his hands and walks away.
“Jerk! Just because you don't appreciate Rush like a sentient being, doesn't mean I can't stoop down to understand your beautiful, satiny chick rock. Damn, speaking of which. I gotta find something while I'm here.”
“What is that, pray tell? Last time I checked, they didn’t really have a full stock of Warrant here.”
“Har har har. Are you done here, or will you wait up?”
Paz rolls her eyes in mock exasperation, “Fine! Idiot!” She smiles and goes towards the counter to face the Curly Haired Boy. Damn, why is it that he is like the ONLY one working right now.
She drops the CD on the counter and doesn't even make eye contact with him. Instead, she rifles through her bag, looking for her wallet. He snickers at her and continues to ring up her purchase in silence. Paz looks over at Tevon, who is shamelessly looking through the country section. Blasphemy. How can he do that. I mean, unless he’s looking for Johnny Cash, he’s crazy to be seen there. Someone might think he’s actually hoping for Shania Twain. Ugck!
Tevon looks back up at her and does a “What?” look. Then he picks an album out of the section and proceeds to come to the counter. Paz finishes her purchase and turns to watch Tevon hand his selection to the Curly Haired Boy, waiting to see him be mercilessly grilled for his faux pas choice.
The Curly Haired Boy looks up at Tevon, incredulously. Here it comes. “Dar Williams?”
“Yeah, I love her earlier work.” Tevon responds.
“But you didn't have a copy of Mortal City?” The Curly Haired Boy looks shocked.
“I did, but I totally scratched the hell out of it. I couldn’t do without it, so here I am.”
Paz is staring at the scene, totally stunned beyond belief. What? This is not making any sense! Rrrrrrgghghh…! Maybe he's gay and thinks Tevon is like sex candy. That must be it. Either that, or it’s just male bullshit. They always think they are the only sex that can truly love music on more than a mundane level.
“Totally understandable. Hey, have you seen her live?”
“A ton of times.” Tevon says.
“She is incredible. It’s amazing how such a small gal can wail so hard.”
“For real man.” Tevon finishes paying. “Well, check you later.”
“Alright man, later. Enjoy!” The Curly Haired Boy smiles and waves at Tevon as he turns to leave.
Tevon walks past Paz, who does not move, then turns back to her, “What?”
“Errrgh! Nothing.” She brushes by him and stomps out the door.
The wind swirls Ingrid’s hair as the sit at the Pier. The Pier, though a nice place to sit and contemplate on normal days of the week, is now a buzz with couples trying to get away from the crowded clubs. Ian and Ingrid have been staring at them as they make goo goo faces at each other or hold hands and just stare out at sea. One of their favorites games has always been people watching together. He’s the only person who really can appreciate it on the same level as Ingrid.
“Oh man, look at the mullet on that guy. It’s like he really BELIEVES in it, you know?” Ian says.
“Yeah, for real. It looks like he passionately cares for that thing.”
“You know he goes to some stylist that has probably coiffed his mullet for the past fifteen years.”
Ingrid laughs, “Yep. He’s probably broken up with women that don’t hold his mullet in as high esteem as he does.”
“He probably would kill anyone if they cut it.” The Mullet Man suddenly looks back in their direction , making the two hold their breath in a “oh my god did he hear us???” way. Then, as he turns back around, Ian and Ingrid laugh until they feel like they're dying. After their chuckling dies down, there’s a silence as they both stare out at the bridge.
“Oh man, Ian, this is fun. I’ve missed this with you.”
“Yeah, me too. Sorry we haven’t hung out like this in a really long time.”
“It's cool.” Ingrid says, rifling through her bag for a cigarette.
“No it's not. Look, Ingrid, I'm sorry, I really am. Amy was all weird about us hanging out and all, but that doesn’t mean I should of let her stop me from hanging with you.”
Ingrid pauses mid light, “She didn't want us to hang out? Like ME, specifically? Why?”
“Well,” he stares into space, “she was convinced that you were trying to get in my pants. Or that I was trying to get into yours, or something. I dunno. You were just a really weird issue for her, I guess.” Ian shrugs.
Ingrid lights her cigarette, “Jesus, that is so typical of her. You and I have known each other for, like, a million years. Plus, she was dating you forever, so what does she care?”
“I know I know. I didn't say it made sense.” Ian stares at his feet and begins kicking his shoes together.
Ingrid takes a long inhale and breathes out slowly. Like some magnificent dragon. She watches the smoke curl up and dissolve like old fireworks into the air.
They sit and stare out again, silent for a few minutes except for Ingrid's slow and steady inhale/exhale. The haze around the Domino Sugar sign is ever watchful and glassy, even against a clear sky.
Finally, Ingrid finishes her cigarette and turns to Ian, “What time is it now?”
He shrugs and checks his watch. “Nine thirthy, just about.”
“Just about? You’re looking at your watch.” Ingrid makes a face at him.
“Ok, fine. It's about nine thirty two and fifty three seconds.”
“Hmmm.” She rubs her nose, “Ya think we should go find Paz and figure out where the Tevon is?”
Ian laughs, “Why, so I can go to this totally awesome warehouse party?”
“Yeah, cuz I know you're dying to go.” She pushes him, “Stop being such a retard and get up. I'm tired of sitting here. Besides, I don't think I can silence my attraction to the Mullet Man any longer.”
She gets up and pulls on Ian's hoodie until he rises stumbles to his feet. Ingrid turns from him and begins walking back towards Thames Street. Ian pauses and looks at her. Man, tonight is gonna be one interesting time.
**************
posted by the ineffable b @ 1:35 PM
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