Things that are tagged monologues

On a Music-Based Friendship

Posted on May 23, 2003 by Porter Mason

I mean, if that’s how you feel, if you don’t want to hang out with me anymore, then OK, I’ll respect that. But…we like all the same CDs, Russell; how can we not be good friends?

Do we come from different worlds? Yes. Is is our rapport less than perfect when discussing anything other than mid- to late-nineties alternative rock? Yes. But we have something, Russell. We have a bond. We have a connection. We both agree the version of “Country Sad Ballad Man” from Blur’s “Live in Utrecht” is more emotionally driven than the album version. No one on this Earth can ever take that from us.

I’ll admit, when I first met you, I didn’t think we were going to hit it off. You looked sort of like the aloof artist type, and I’m more an awkward technophile. I didn’t expect us to connect much when we started chatting at Becky’s party. But when you made that offhand reference to the lyrics of the Fountains of Wayne b-side, “Nightlight”, I mean…it’s hard to ignore a connection like that.

And It’s not that I don’t notice the problems. I do. Believe me, I don’t look at our friendship with blinders on. I felt a certain coldness from you when I stopped by your place at 4am needing help with my “Thom Yorke vs. Jarvis Cocker” poster dilemma. I was aware of the awkward pause on the ride home from Ranch One after we disagreed about the production credits on the Guided By Vioces’ “Glad Girls” single. And I saw how angry you became on the car ride home from the Stephen Malkmus concert after I berated your girlfriend, Molly, for being a fairweather Pavement fan.

Sometimes I think she is the real problem here, to be honest. Ever since you two started going out, it’s been difficult to get you on the phone, hard to plan concert outings, and your postings on the Pedro the Lion message board can best be described as preoccupied.

But fine, perhaps I should take solace in the words of the Foo Fighter’s David Grohl. Because Russell, if you think “there is nothing left to lose” in our friendship, if you think you’re “done, done, on to the next one”, then fine. But know that I’ll always be here. I will be “waiting here for you, everlong” until you “make your way back home and you learn to fly.” Because I “don’t wanna be your monkeywrench”, Russell. “But it’s you”, dear friend, that “I fell into.”

Porter

On Life Being About The Journey

Posted on June 2, 2003 by Porter Mason

Yeah! A road trip! Let’s do it! I love a good road trip! Let’s GO!

…

I’m tired. My feet hurt. I can’t turn my neck the whole way to the right anymore. This car smells. I’m hungry. I have to go to the bathroom. This car doesn’t have enough cool features like a CD player or heated seat cushions. Your story is boring. You, I’ve come to realize, are boring.

I’m thirsty. This magazine is ridiculous. This state has no cool road signs. This highway has no character. My feet hurt. My pants are bunching up. I can’t get to sleep. This car’s heat is weird, and I’m always either too hot or too cold. You don’t listen to my stories and anecdotes that closely. And now that I think about it, I don’t know that you ever have.

I’m bored. This weather is oppressive. My throat hurts. My feet hurt still, too. I have to go to the bathroom the other way now. This rest stop is such a perfect example of what’s wrong with American consumerism. This car uses too much gas. I have “swamp ass”. I no longer really care where we’re going. We’ve heard the same song fifteen times, and while I once liked it, it has now passed over into the category of “Songs That If I Hear One More Time I’ll Disembowel a Dachshund.” You don’t understand me or my tastes. What’s more, I don’t even know that we’ve ever truly been friends.

And my feet really do hurt; I’m not joking about that.

Hey. We’re here.

What a great trip, man! I really love road trips! All RIGHT!

Porter

On Trying to Not Complain So Much

Posted on September 25, 2003 by Porter Mason

Look, there’s no reason to panic. We’re all safe for the moment. Yes, the elevator’s still not moving. Yes. And we’re all unhappy about that. But I’m sure it’ll start again soon; these things happen all the time. You freaking out like you’re doing, all this negativity… it’s not helping anything.

And OK, you’re claustrophobic. OK. I really am sorry about that. But there is nothing that we, in this elevator right now, can do about that. We all have problems, right? I mean, we all have things that aren’t perfect about us. I, personally, have very weak knees. Had ‘em my whole life. But am I yammering about them? No. Way. And yes, your Thing That Isn’t Perfect happens to be particularly ill-suited to your current situation, but going on and on about it… well, it’s only irritating things more.

And believe me, I understand that it’s unfortunate that you’re allergic to pet dander, and I happen to have my chocolate lab, Baxter, in the elevator. It’s too bad. But look, they let me bring him in to office sometimes, today is one of those times, and who could have known this elevator would’ve stopped with us three trapped in here, and with Baxter in full shedding season? Not me! I mean, I would NOT have predicted it. And Bax isn’t doing this on purpose? Are ya, Bax? Nooooo, no, he’s not. He’s a good boy. I mean, yes: it’s too bad. It’s too bad your skin is breaking out in hives, and it’s too bad your mouth is becoming frighteningly dry, and I’m sorry about the fact that your throat is closing up. I really am. But, hey, you know, my ears are closing up from all this complaining, mister! OK? Heh heh. Not really, but I mean, you know what I mean, OK? This constant griping… it’s just futile.

And look: no one is more upset than I am about the fact that I am stabbing you in the chest with this letter opener. No one. I mean, do you think I want to violate my probation and get sent in for another 25 years? Do you think that I want that? Because I do not, sir. Not by a long shot. But, as fate would have it, I have a sort of little mental… problem… that when I’m alone with one person, for a period of over 25 minutes… I… well, you know, I… I just sort of want to… I want to remove their heart from their chest and make it a part of me.

And yes: That. Is. A. Problem. I mean, I recognize it, and I’ve tried very hard to avoid situations like this one we’re in, but here we are. I mean, what with this problem and the weak knees, I’m in pretty sorry shape, you know? Heh heh.

But am I whining? No. No, I am not. Only you are whining, sir. Well, and Baxter is. But I think, to be honest, your bad attitude is sort of wigging him out because I’ve never seen him like this.

Well, yes, it could be the stabbing that’s wigging him out, I suppose, but there you are, immediately putting the blame for something on everything else in the world but yourself! I hate to say this, but that’s something that really bugs me about people in this country here of late. No accountability. And you didn’t see that as much back wh–

OK, now the elevator’s moving. See? I told you. We’ll be out of here in no time. And, I might add, I clearly will not have enough time to actually dig down to your heart and devour it. So: Chin. Up. Heh heh, OK?! OK.

Sit, Baxter.

He’s a beautiful animal, isn’t he, sir? Sir?

Sir? (shakes stabbed man’s head, no reaction)

Finally he calms down a little, right, Bax? Heh heh. Good boy.

Porter