davidjett

You Don't Say?

So last night at The Walkmen show at the Hi-Tone (with opening act Bobby Bare, Jr.) I'm talking to my friend Jessica. "Jessie B" wants to be a music journalist. So I'm telling her about a great book that I'm currently reading. I'm sure she'll find it highly entertaining since it has a lot to do with music. The book, just out in paperback, is Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself To Live.

Chuck is a former writer for Spin Magazine (among other publications) and tells of his journey across the country to visit the sites of famous musician deaths.

I'm telling B. about the book and she launches into this rant about how she told me about Chuck close to a year ago. We had been working together at Tower Records at the time. I do remember her telling me a story that went something like this (I may not have the exact quotes, but I think I'm 99% accurate here...)

"Hey, Dave! You won't believe it! I just met (some guy's name) and I got to talk to him! He's in town for a book signing and he came into Tower and was looking at the magazines! Oh, my god! I would totally marry him! He writes for Spin! I want to write for Spin! I asked him about writing for Spin! He said-don't write for Spin! Oh, man, he's so cute! I can't believe it!"

And then she rambled on for several minutes in some kind of girly-talk...blah, blah, blah.

So last night she tells me that the guy in that story was Chuck Klosterman. How the hell was I supposed to know that? But I've learned two things from this incident:

1. I don't ever give a shit about anything until the point that I give a shit about it. And...

2. Apparantly, women expect you to pay attention to every little thing they say.

Chicks.