At first the image of an Israeli-born observant Jew tuning in to the abject filth and gutter-prowling violence of the Stooges was hard to reconcile with the suit-wearing project manager sitting in my cubicle. But as he continued to talk about his exploits in the early 1970s, including how he followed Neil Young’s solo acoustic tour around the country with various chemical aids, it became obvious that I was in the presence of a True Sick Muso who had Lived It. Eventually our conversation turned to McDonough’s Young biography, which I had just recently purchased and finished reading, and which now sat atop a pile of discarded papers in the corner of my messy cubicle. I didn’t think twice when he asked to borrow it. I only gladly offered it, with the comment, "No hurry at all. Take as much time as you need."
And that is where the trouble began. Among this small circle that I loan my music collection to, there is only one rule. And although it is an unwritten rule, it forms the basis, the fabric, the very foundation of all that is sacred in my music lending system: I do not care when you return the item back to me. Just return it. And if you liked it a lot, support the artist (or the artist’s greedy major label conglomerate) by buying your own copy. As the weeks passed by and turned into months, and as The Guy Who Sniffs His Snot Back Up His Nose All Day still refused to buy a box of Kleenex, this coworker would occasionally stop by to say he was enjoying the biography. Winter: It is a great biography, I heartily agreed. Neil sure was a heartless bastard at times. Hold on to it as long as you need. No hurry at all. I know you’re good for it. Spring: No man, no hurry at all. It’s all good. Summer: Yeah, Re-ac-tor still is a pile of junk. No, don’t worry about it. Whenever is fine. No rush. I have plenty of other stuff to read.
Article comments
1 - V.C. Almond
Funny shit, man.
2 - Martin Lav
No worries, I'll lend you my copy if you want.
All I ask is that you return it......eventually.