Nicole_Crews_01 by Nicole Crews

Mother: What exactly is patchouli?

Me: Remember the incense that Louisa used to burn during yoga class in Winston? Imagine that mixed with a rack of bowling shoes. That’s patchouli.

Mother: Then why did that woman on “Fashion Police” get in trouble for saying that an actress’ outfit looked like patchouli.

Me: Actually Giuliana Rancic said, “I feel that she smells of patchouli oil — or weed.” And I don’t know. I think some considered it racist because Zendaya is half black and she was sporting dreadlocks.

Mother: I thought it was because her dress was spindly and ratty and looked like a dried up old weed. And isn’t that the point of a show like that?

Me: Ya got me. I would be more offended at the hippie insinuation.

Mother: Is that what hippies smell like? Bowling shoes and yoga class?

Me: If you’re lucky.

Scene: Me, sitting at desk, staring at a “cutie” on my desk and wondering what marketing douchebag came up with branding Mandarin oranges as “cuties.”

Was it because Mandarin was Asian? Racist.

Viking: Are you writing?

Me: No. I’m taking a hand nap.

Viking: I thought you were gonna write about going to see Rusted Root and the Wailers.

Me: I am. My face still hurts from people watching.

Viking: The dreadlock mosh pit was entertaining.

Me: I liked it when the Carolina Theatre cops cleared the left side of it. Like there is a rule: “White people in Rasta gear must stay to the right of the stage.” Let our people go dance!

Viking: I’m still not sure why the guy from Rusted Root needed a guitar tech.

Me: A really self-important guitar tech at that. The urgency of moving one guitar from a stand two feet from the guitarist to said guitarist was palpable.

Viking: The guitarist was tired from getting into those skinny jeans.

Me: He was a Rested Root.

Viking: Ha. You really had it in for the girl.

Me: You mean Liz Berlin, the world-instrument gatherer?

Viking: What did you call that spiky gourd she was shaking?

Me: You mean the armadillo on a stick? It looked like a Vulcan handbag.

Viking: It kind of sounded like a petrified armadillo.

Me: They must have to rent an extra bus for her arsenal of exotic instruments. It looks like she raided World Market with a whaling net.

Viking: What was happening with that blue backlight?

Me: Those white spots were meant to symbolize the brewing snowstorm outside maybe?

Viking: Or it was dust on a blurry lens.

Me: Liz Berlin could have lubed it up with her Tin Man oilcan instrument that, apparently, one plays with one’s left nipple.

Viking: I can’t believe they didn’t have a kazoo.

Me: She does play a mean industrial flashlight though. You have to admit.

Viking: I liked her work with the box of doughnuts.

Me: Hot and now! Krispy Kreme should hire the band as spokesmen. After that KKK promo debacle they could use some street cred. And who likes doughnuts more than patchouli oil-wearing, dreadlocked, weed smokers?

Viking: She definitely had all the bells and whistles.

Me: At one point I think she pulled out a Bratz doll filled with Mexican jumping beans as an instrument.

Viking: That guitar tech’s hovering still haunts me. I thought he was gonna give the guy a reach around at any minute.

Me: I had fun though. They sounded good and the Wailers didn’t disappoint. What did you call the evening?

Viking: Dinner and a show?

Me: Yes! I love that. It’s so 1950s New York.

Viking: I’m a little old fashioned. I did cotillion.

Me: You’ve got more layers than Liz Berlin has gourds.

Viking: Oh, come on, if you met her you’d probably be BFFs within minutes.

Me: Yes and she could let me borrow her corseted Renaissance fair jacket and give me hair tips on where exactly you can get your hair done like “Long Island Medium.”

Viking: You should be on “Fashion Police.”

Me: I hear there’s an opening.

Viking: Joan Rivers. Too soon?

Me: No, Kathy Griffin took Joan’s seat. Kelly Osbourne reportedly left the show after Patchouligate. Now let me work before Jordan Green starts sending me exceedingly polite emails about deadlines.

Viking: Okay. Are you going to eat that orange?

Me: It’s not an orange. It’s a musical instrument from Asia. I’m going to send it to Cutie Berlin.


Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.