So there I was, walking down Franklin Street in Oakland earlier this year. Carrying an umbrella and my Thai takeout lunch in a paper bag. Skipping merrily along to the jaunty tune playing in my headphones. It was raining heavily that spring day, and just as I passed three 50-something Asian ladies standing in the doorway of a bubble tea shop, I stepped on the metal grate covering one of those sidewalk freight elevators. My feet flew out from under me. My lunch sailed through the air in a beautiful arc and rotation that I’m sure would have looked poignant in slow motion, then landed in a 6-inch-deep puddle. I landed flat on my back. It took a moment for my senses to re-calibrate and make sense of what was going on. First I was aware of the drops of water now pelting me in the face as my umbrella lay yards away. Next I registered the gasps of horror on the faces of the three ladies. And then, slowly, my brain began to process the music still playing in my ears:
Everything, everything, everything, everything, everything is awful!!!
That, my friends, was 2018, in all its mortifying, capricious, senseless absurdity. I can think of no better soundtrack. Continue reading