(originally written some time in 1999)
This week's boyfriend is a big one for me, folks. You thought the menage a trois was a big deal, wait until you find out about the menage a quatre!
But enough with the French lesson, let's get down to it. This week's boyfriend is Sicko. That's right, Ma, THE WHOLE BAND. But, what's that? You've never heard of Sicko? Oh boy, you're in big trouble with me now, guys. It was bad enough that only ONE of you caught the error I made in my Ode to Clint Eastwood a few weeks ago (it was a test, though, I swear), but to come to me now with such blank faces. God, it just kills me. Where have you people been? Kansas?
Sicko. When did I first hear Sicko, anyway? I can't even remember. What I CAN remember, however, is that I used to sleep ten feet from where they once performed. That's right. TEN FEET. It wasn't easy, either. I mean, it'd be kind of like crashing on MacGyver's couch while he was out of town. Sure, he's not there NOW, but he was there not too long ago and that means there are little bits of him here and there. Like, air he breathed and skin he shed, fingernails he bit off and spit out, hair he lost, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum. Especially the nauseum part.
I'm almost positive, for example, that one of the billion empty beer bottles down in that basement had Sicko spit on it. I have no evidence of this, really, except to say that I lived there and so I know for a fact that nobody in that house EVER threw anything away. But that's really a story for the Harvey Danger expose I have in the works, so I'll save the end of that thought for another time.
Sicko rocks. Okay, okay, I know that's a dumb teenybopper passe thing to say. But it's so true! The only other band in the world that has ever made me as happy as Sicko makes me was the Pixies. And Sicko (yes, the WHOLE BAND) is waaaaaay cuter than Frank Black, so they win (Note to Frank: Babe, you've really let yourself go). Can you believe I just said I like Sicko better than the Pixies? I can't. But there it is anyway.
Two things: their best album is "Laugh While You Can, Monkey Boy" and their worst song is the one about being "dateless losers." I have a hard time believing that, boys. Especially since I've been waiting here for years and years now and you've never even called. Sure, I've never given you my phone number or anything, but GOD, do I have to take care of everything around here? Let's get on the ball, fellas! If you're dateless, don't just sit there and write songs about it! All ya gotta do is whistle!
Now, the finale, the best part, the denouement, the climax, the OH MY GOD, YOU WON'T EVEN BELIEVE THIS: I met Ean once! Okay, sort of twice, but I only talked to him once. I hate to say this, since I am claiming to be equally in love with the whole band, but Ean is my favorite. He's got the dark hair and the dopey grin. I just can't resist that combination, you know? Anyway, yes, I met him AND I talked to him. I think I said (okay, okay, stuttered) something like, "I'm the biggest Sicko fan I know." And he seemed happy about that, though he didn't leap on top of me and tear off my clothes or anything. Hey, that's okay. It just means he's respectable, and respectable is a pretty okay thing to be. Um, I guess.
That was a really great night for me. I haven't washed my cheek since. Well, not that he kissed me or anything, but as a tribute to him. Cuz I knew he WANTED to kiss my cheek, but my boyfriend was standing right there and they kind of know each other and I could tell it was sort of an awkward situation. You know how it is, right?
Okay, so, what I'm trying to tell you is this: run right out and buy a Sicko cd. Or call me up and I'll make you the granddaddy of all Sicko compilations (probably a copyright violation, but I won't tell if you won't). You won't be sorry, I swear. And when they call me and ask me out on a date (that's right, I mean the WHOLE BAND and ME), I'll drop your name and see if I can't get YOU a date too!
MacGyver Factor Score: 95%. Points off for thinking OJ was innocent.