Oh, pretty boy, can’t you show me nothing but surrender?
We saw him, Susan and me, we saw the pretty boy. He works at Michaels Art Supply store. I’ve never seen a boy so pretty. The skin, the hair, the eyelashes. A calm smile, a welcoming vibe. Skinny as a rail, like a pretty boy should be. He wore an open flannel over a Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt. You’ve seen the graphic. A laser beam enters a prism and exits an array of colors, a rainbow of light.
Susan needed to make a return. She bought a white wooden Welcome sign. She planned to paint it the colors of the Rainbow flag. I convinced her it would be more cost effective to just buy something already finished. We bought a flag online. They’re popping up all over my super-conservative town. The backlash has begun. The escalating discrimination against the LGBTQ+ community has mobilized even lazy folk like me. I need to stand in solidarity. I need to flip a middle finger in MAGA’s face. In today’s culture war, I hope to be a warrior.
As Susan made her return, I distracted the pretty boy. “Hey, I like your shirt.” He was flattered. Then I went on far too long for a sixty-year-old dude talking to a teenager. “In honor of Dark Side of the Moon’s fiftieth anniversary a couple of months ago, I listened to the album beginning to end. I haven’t done that since the eighties. God, it’s a great album!” I knew he would appreciate this comment, being a fan and all.
“Oh, I only know a couple of their songs.”
Predictably, once we got into the car, I ranted to Susan. “I don’t think you should be allowed to wear the t-shirt if you don’t know the band.”
Fifteen years ago, biking the loop around Gettysburg Battlefield, I saw a woman on the side of the road wearing a Ramones t-shirt. Because I was riding really slowly up a steep hill, I was able to have a brief conversation with her.
Me: “Gabba gabba hey!” It’s a Ramones lyric from the song Pinhead. When you see the Ramones in concert (which you don’t do anymore because they’re all dead), Joey Ramone walks off stage and comes back with a childishly drawn hand-made sign reading Gabba Gabba Hey. As they reach that part of the song, the audience shouts along.
Woman in the Ramones shirt: (Gives me a fearful look).
Woman in the Ramones shirt’s boyfriend: (super pissed off and ready to fight) “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HER?”
I spent the rest of my ride muttering to myself “Don’t wear the freaking shirt if you don’t know what gabba gabba hey means.”
Back to the pretty boy: Susan responded, “Maybe he just likes the shirt.”
I don’t buy it. I don’t wear a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey just because I like black and gold. People build identities around things like bands and sports teams. Wearing someone else’s band shirt is cultural appropriation.
I own one band shirt. It’s for the Clash. I’m a Clash superfan. I know every song they’ve written, and I can sing along beginning to end with almost all of them. I even know which of their songs were written by someone else. When someone compliments me on my t-shirt, I’m the one ready to start the conversation. I deserve a Clash t-shirt.
I understand pretty boy’s Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt looked nice. He pulled it off well. If that album wasn’t so laden with decades-old confusing and conflicting memories stemming from all the poor choices I made during my college years, I might even want one.
As I plotted this post on a three-hour drive this afternoon, I decided to listen to the album again. Mind you, Pink Floyd isn’t necessarily the sort of music I generally listen to, but after hearing the album today, I think I can honestly say that side two of that LP—starting with the song Money through the end of the album—just might be the most masterfully crafted chunk of rock music ever recorded.
* A lyric from the song Brain Damage on side two of Dark Side of the Moon.
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Previously Published on jefftcann.com and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: Wikimedia
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