B-52s

The B-52s are following me. Last night, Fred "Love Shack, Baby" Schneider made an apperance on the Daily Show. He did a rather lame skit about how lame Scott McClellan sounds reading his own book on tape. It was hard to tell if Fred was supposed to seem bored and lame, or if he thought the skit was lame. I like to think that he wondered if he'll ever get away from "So hurry up, and bring your jukebox money!"

Then, this afternoon, as I walked along on the treadmill at the gym, I glanced up and saw the unmistakable "Love Shack" video. There were Kate Pierson, Cindy Wilson, and Fred Schneider in all of their 80s glory - beehives, short skirts, go-go boots. Come to think of it, they were in their 60s glory. I thought, "Here's a group of people that I haven't thought of in years and in the span of 24 hours, they've visited me twice."

I'm sure this is a sign, but I'm not sure what it signifies. I'll win free B-52s tickets? I kind of hope that's not the case, since I read recently that they were touring with Rosie O'Donnell, and free or not, I don't want to see Rosie. Maybe the B-52s visits are a sign that my hairdresser will give me a beehive on Thursday. Again, I hope not. Maybe I have a rock lobster in my future. Maybe I'll win a trip to "roam if I want to, roam around the world."

On the way home from the gym, I "headed down the Atlanta Highway." Again, a sign? I wasn't necessarily "looking for a love getaway," though I didn't rule it out. Instead of a "Chrysler that seats about 20," I had a Honda, that seats about 4. Somehow, not the same. In the meantime, I'll just keep humming, "...everybody's movin', everybody's groovin'..."