Hey, Old Man, Are They Biting Today

Please say you didn't call someone out for... oh yeah, you did.

This is far from examining a return to the baroque picaresque novel in Rienaldo Arenas's El Mundo Alucinante but since I don't regularly browse bookshelves or know a cunt lick about comp lit (and it took a quick Google search to dig up that convoluted Cuban reference) I'm gonna use my "Get Out of Study Hall Free" card here and rock the ages under the aegis of being the most aged to egg it on.

Slurp on this, homefries.

David Amsden (RMHS '98) says:	Alex Balk (TMFTML) says:	Both mean:
Lunchtime, Richard Montgomery High School, 1994... there were only two options when the bell rang: A) the cafeteria... or B) 7-Eleven...	During our freshman year of high school Nonesuch put out a record called Late in the 20th Century, a compilation of the avant-garde music the label was, at that time, known for.	I’m a pretentious twat
That the expression "brainfreeze"—meaning the needling headache brought on by drinking something too cold too quickly—was trademarked in 1994 says it all: The point is masochistic, to find pleasure in pain, to embrace evil over good.	The track began with a woman's voice saying, “You know who's in New York? Remember that guy John somebody? He was a sort of a...” Then, over various musical textures, the phrase was repeated, disassembled, and reassembled. It might sound like your worst nightmare now...	I’m a pretentious twat
Slacker-hating sophisticates can now pretend to be slackers, projecting a false sense of value onto the very suburban childhoods that felt so valueless at the time.	...but to a pretentious 14-year-old marking time in the suburbs it was an all too rare reminder that there was a whole other world, not far away, where real art was possible and discussions about music didn't consist mainly of whether you would, given the opportunity, do it to Debbie Gibson.	I’m a pretentious twat
...typically indulging in some heroically seed-strewn marijuana on the way over.	(and if you can do that, please also send us some bourbon; we remember having a hard time getting it back then)	I’m a pretentious twat
Which brings us to 7-Eleven's glistening new Manhattan outpost.	Which brings us to The Fiery Furnaces, and advance copy of whose Rehearsing My Choir recently came our way.	I’m a pretentious twat
With misguided nostalgia comes a tendency to fetishize the mundane because the truth is either too earnest (I miss being young!) or just plain sad (When did I become this person?)	We've listened to Choir twice now, and, while it's equally fascinating and annoying, we're pretty sure that if someone mailed it back to the us at 14 we would have spent weeks poring over it, letting every note make its case.	I’m a pretentious twat
...after three furious sips, the overly self-aware brain will be frozen, all meta-oriented cells will be annihilated, and, for a few painful seconds, we will all be bumbling freshman again.	If you're young, patient, or just more open-minded than we, you might want to pick this one up.	I’m a pretentious twat