Listening to King Crimson in the car on the way to Buffalo yesterday. Link Olsson in the passenger seat.
"How can you listen to this shit?" Link mumbles in a really bad Swedish accent. Sounded like "how cun yo lissun to dis shet".
"You just need to have done enough drugs in your life to be able to appreciate Fripp, Link." I say. Life is ridiculous. There are moments when you are proud of the very things you just know you could have saved yourself a load of trouble without doing.
"Vell dis myoozik mayks me vont to do drugs!"
Right. So we move on to something with a fast beat. Swedish techno CD. Should have seen THAT coming.
Damn brats nowadays.
Link is a barrel of laughter, you know. Everything he says makes you laugh. You should have seen him ask for a mud slide at the Silver Dollar on Tuesday. A classic. Even the old bartender, with the burden of all the sob stories he's heard on top of his own sob story, had to laugh at Link asking for a mid slide.
He plays a certain body language that accomodates every word, in a way that only
Swedish people and kindergarten teachers can. When he says "big" or "huge" or something to that effect, his eyes go wide, his arms spread open and his hands open up, making him look like he's holding an invisible watermelon that is just about to break his back. That sort of thing.
At the Royal Ontario Museum on Wednesday, he got stuck on the Egyptian floor. "Brrrilliunt!" he kept repeating.
I spent an hour on that floor telling him how when I was his age I went to Egypt with a supposed tour, then ditched the tour and its yappy guide somewhere in the middle of the Khufu pyramid, spent the night getting stoned in one of the underground chambers, then almost got deported by one authority or another when I surfaced back to the light. "Brrrilliunt!" he said.
Ah well, it's all fun and games.
Mary Jane is for some California girl whose cookies taste good.
Peace on Earth, pa ra pa pum pum.
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