It's like: this american life, unicorns & rainbows

a rather large event unfolding in a terrifically hysterical manner

By dusty (April 8, 2008)

Tonight I asked Alan what to write about (I had been thinking about Sunny Delight). To which he replied “how alan is going to get people to buy what he composes on fl studio”.

“wtf is the fl studio,” said I (because when you are talking on the internet, abbreviations such as “wtf” are absolutely necessary).

He informed me, and instead of telling you what it is I am just going to regale you with tales of my childhood.

My childhood was amazing in every way. There were times when I played in the sandbox, and there were times when I rode my bicycle down the hill in front of my house. There were times when I went sledding and times when I went swimming. Times when I drew with markers on my privates and times when I got my mouth washed out with soap. There were times when I had 3 “girlfriends” and times when I built treehouses and forts and sandcastles. I had dogs and I hated some foods (and loved others). What I am saying is that my childhood was pretty much exactly the same as every other little boy’s childhood ever. (This of course does not take into account the lives of crackbabies and retards and the abused and the poor and the ugly and the dead.)

The lesson in all of this is that remembrance is an ugly beast, but a beast that can be tamed. (For example, that time when my parents left me all alone in my house as a tiny boy while they test-drove a new car and planned their ultimate escape from me — it was just a dream, apparently.)

So remember that the good times are the AIDS of the remembrance beast. It does not want you to remember them, and when you do, it cries a little (but just a little).

But that’s good enough for me. If remembering a snowfort means I am inherently giving the mental finger to some quantum asshole guardian of the past, then I’ll just pretend my entire childhood was spent living in one.

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