Notes From a Walkman Junkie: Ode To My Gnomie
Ode To My Gnomie
I recently attended a charming gathering that included friends, music, hats, and cake balls. As we all know, where there are hats, music and cake balls, a dance party will recrudesce and this soiree was no exception. We put on our hats, ate some balls, and got down. When Kanye West’s Gold Digger blared from the speakers I instantly thought of my friend, whom I shall refer to simply as, Rhadamanthus. The connection is really just the fact that Gold Digger was in heavy rotation at the time that I started to hang out with Rhadamanthus and we grooved to it on more than one occasion. This also happened to be the time that he realized my name was not in fact ‘Jane’s sister’, but ‘Jackson’s girlfriend’… do forgive me, but I am a bit distracted as I write this. There is an exceptionally sized spider on my ceiling, and I am terrified of spiders so have no choice but to keep an eye on it for the rest of the evening. All right, moving on…
As of late, Rhadamanthus has been systematically pressing me to write about him, insisting that he should be featured in a brand new, sparkly article of his very own. Now, mind you, this is despite the fact that he has expressed to me that he has yet to read any of my articles all the way through, saying things like, “I tried to read Roll It In Jimmies part II, but could not get past all of the ‘horsefucks’ in it.” I told him that was just silly… there were only like six horsefucks in it, and besides, horsefuckery is an inevitable part of life so toughen up, puss cake.
I went out to dinner with Rhadamanthus last week and he was all but consumed with watching to see if I would take out my little notebook and jot down the quirky, witty zingers he was shooting my way. This naturally only encouraged me to feign reaching for the notebook in my bag, only to pull out various other items: my phone, a hand mirror, my High School Musical 3 cherry chap stick, etc… At one point, I did actually pull out my notebook and proceeded to scribe my grocery list.
I did of course, as it happens, decide to give a nod to Rhadamanthus and write about him in my next article, and now regret not taking a few notes during our previous encounter. I contemplated following him around the other night with my little notebook at his birthday/bowling celebration to make up for my blunder. Alas, this was not feasible as I was far too distracted by petting his mockingly inviting velour shirt and discussing the fact that he desperately needs a shiny green gnome. Rhadamanthus pointed out to me the coveted green gnome prize and said for a mere six thousand tickets it could be his. I proffered to play ski-ball and win it for him, but that proved be a slightly difficult feat as there was actually no ski-ball provided at the bowling alley.
Well fear not, Rhadamanthus, I have a splendid backup green gnome plan (an added related side note: Gnomes should never ever be thought of and/or mentioned while in the throes of passion under any circumstances) So… here is your article and you shall have your green gnome, though it may be more on the velvety side and less on the shiny side.
I have attached a song by The Ropes, a band that was recommended to me by my dear Rhadamanthus.