Captain Idol

I realize this makes me profoundly unmarketable… takes my stock down, if you will, from whatever questionable level it was prior to this revelation. But every now and then, a guilty pseudo-pleasure of mine is eating food from a specific seafood establishment. I wouldn’t do this if I could cook more than like four things, but I can’t. I tire of those four things easily.

Tonight, the line at the drive-thru was very long, so I went in. As I looked at the maritime paraphernalia on the walls, I was transported to a magical world. A sea-faring explorer was I. I could almost feel the scurvy overtaking me, and I began feeling woozy as the waves caused the ship I was on to rise and fall. As I found myself almost unable to gain my sea legs, my fantasy was interrupted by a voice. A distant but concrete voice, saying… saying…

“Can I take your order?”

What the hell is up with the décor in these places? Do people need to feel like pirates to eat that low-grade fish and ultra-greasy hush puppy crap? It could at least be made somewhat believable if “Drunken Sailor” or the soundtrack from Pirates of the Caribbean were playing over the Big Lots-quality stereo system. Instead, it was some horrible Kenny G clone playing some pseudo-fusion version of something undoubtedly in the Public Domain. Made John Tesh sound like Wagner.

“Woah, the waves! The boat is sinking!” Give me a break, Cap’n Deez.

To make myself further unmarketable, I must admit that I watch American Idol. I have a fiercely unhealthy fondness for Carrie, the country singer. What is perhaps more unnerving is that I respond emotionally to the show’s open. For some reason, it amazes me to think about this event that is, for many, the highlight of their week. Something about that little minimalist theme, the graphics, and the sort of collective excitement of millions of bored Americans gets to me. I don’t cry or anything like that, but I am always engaged by it. I get genuinely pumped.

I think it is even cooler when the loud melody-less theme morphs into that soft synthesizer and bass-driven repetitive rhythm that is almost always present unless someone is singing. If I were very small, I would be convinced that this rhythm was being played constantly by several squirrels or rodents imprisoned in a large rhythm factory, when the show is on, and when it’s not. There would also be humans involved, but they would be the lucky ones. They would only be responsible for the “Buuuurrrrrrraaaaaaaaooooooow” and “Eeeyayeeeyayeeeyahah” portion of the theme. I would feel sorry for the rodents and know that they envied, perhaps even hated the humans, knowing that they were free to take the frequent smoke break and visit with family outside of the six minutes per week they actually worked. All the while, the rodents would slave away… dividing time with two notes, with no end in sight.

Now that I think about it, I’m not sure this isn’t true.