Well, last night was Friday, so, as per usual, I went out with my asshole friends and got shitty drunk to celebrate the end of the work week. I had a pretty productive week; I worked alot, contemplated the nature of human existence, and even got to play around with the new loop pedal I got. But all that is meaningless now. Because Ian Curtis smashed my apartment.
It was around 3:30 in the morning. I was about to go to bed when my alcoholic roommate knocked violently on my bedroom door. "Yo," he said. "Drink this." I looked down and he was holding a freshly opened beer in his hand. "Umm," I stammered. "I was going to go to bed. . . don't know if I need another pint at this stage of my life. . ." I already knew I was going to give in. "Yes," he said. "You do."
I caved, grabbed the beer and headed into the living room, where my other two roomates were hanging out. Music was blaring and it was apparent that a massive game of foosball was about to go down.
The game went well, some good passes, some good chirps, everything seemed quite typical. That was before the Joy Division came on. Thats when things got stupid.
I know that music can evoke powerful emotions, but I've never seen anything like this. The song "Transmission" put everyone into a frenzy. Within two minutes, the apartment had been destroyed. The couch and the armchairs got flipped, bicycles were sent flying across the room. Paintings on the wall were ripped down and beer was strewn everywhere. It was a manic episode that seemed surreal. I couldn't believe what was happening. Why were we destroying our own apartment? What would compel anyone to do such a thing? But then I remembered we were listening to Joy Division and I decided that it was all Ian Curtis' fault.
I don't know why we did what we did. I don't know what our problem is. . .Are we nuts? Are we idiots? Are we assholes? Maybe a combination of the three. Regardless, we should be evicted. Moral of the Story: NO JOY DIVISION AFTER MIDNIGHT.
