i want my mtv

"What's happened to the Farmer's Market?"
"It has been a year," she italicizes her verb.
"Yeah, but Macro Mammas? and Gimme coffee? Those are both staples, tailored to the Ithacan, waterfronted needs of a specific food and drink genre, you know? I mean, macrobiotic or not, Macro Mammas has some good fucking food, and Gimme will always live up to its namesake."
"What? Namesake?"
"You know, like gimme my coffee,' or like 'I want my MTV,' but I forget, for you kids born in the early 80's, the Dire Straights wouldn't've had the same impact on your generation?"
"Fuck you! I'm not that much younger than your generation," she laughs with the pulse of her finger bones, squeezing the iambic pentameter of her drip-coffee words into my open hands.
"All I'm saying is that the market I knew and loved has changed in little over a year, and if you don't want me to feel hopeless about the state of things, then let me bitch and moan about the past and you can be on the lookout for something decent to eat, because we sure as shit aren't getting a decent cup of coffee unless we return to Dwight's office via Cayuga and Farm. Besides, I want a redeye and most places don't even know what the fuck that is," I raise our locked fingers and look at her as I kiss the top of her left hand.
Her smile matches the drapes of her thoughts as we curtain the next booth with our sequestered gazes upon the stars of the upstate lakes--the reisling and the sheep's cheese that put the kale and carrots to shame.

---

"You are going to Brown for an MFA in acting?"
"Yeah, I'm sooo excited," he twists the lid off of the cocktail shaker and places the ice drainer over the lip in one smooth movement.
"That's a really good school..wow! I'm happy for you, congratulations!"
He fills the chilled glass--with its tale-tell cloudy veneer--to the rim, "I know, here," he nods to my Bombay sapphire cocktail, "take a sip and I'll pour what's left."
I comply, since the drinks here are outrageously pricey but worth the cost because of the quality, "Oh, that's good, Carl, thank you, and congrats again."
I return to our table outside, only spilling once as I step down from the raised sidewalk to the side alley turned outdoor cafe, "Carl's going to Brown," I say before I reach my seat, "and he's getting an MFA in acting," I finally sit and take a sip, offering the next swig to my tablemates.
"That's great," Steve says, checking his sugar before taking a drink or bite to eat, "I knew Carl, I mean," he gets distracted with the insulin pump, "I knew Carl would go far, you know?" he refocuses on the thought at hand before returning to his mealtime task of setting the level of insulin pumped into his body.
"I know..he's so talented," I bite into a slice of pizza with little regard to my able-bodied pancreas doing all the thinking about insulin for me.
"So are you, honey," Tiffany smiles in the dark and her teeth shine like stars above the upstate lakes and the trees, she's honeywine and lime--the libation that gave all the rest of the offerings the reason to believe in their potential fame.
I want to say, "No, I'm not," but decide to keep my mouth shut as I chew that first bite until Steve can join in the melody of mastication and offering of libations.

---

"I really like the Dire Straights, oh, do you remember them?"
I quell the sarcastic remark about 'remembering' as opposed to 'knowing' music, "Yes, I remember, of course...'I want my MTV' was one of my favorite songs as a kid."
"Oh, you do then, yeah, I have some of their albums on vinyl."
"You do? I'd imagine they would be worth some money one day."
"Yeah, I don't know," Charles leans back in his porch recliner, hands behind head, like the stereotype of nostalgia, "they might be, but you must have been young when that song came out."
"I was ahead of my time when I was six."
"HA!" he begins his generous laugh.
"I like to think that I remember the birth and death of MTV."
"Oh, really, that's interesting, and why do you say that?" he asks with genuine interest.
"I don't have cable so I can't say for certain, but the last time I checked...they don't even play music on MTV anymore--"
"Is that right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, what is it like now?"
"First of all, MTV started the stupid reality TV show craze with 'The Real World.' Real my ass..those people get paid a shit ton of cash to argue in front of a camera."
He laughs again, "I never saw that show, but I heard about it from friends, and honestly, I think it is a generational thing, you know, like Friends--"
"Charles," I interrupt, "I pride myself on how much I hate Friends...I only watched it when someone else forced me to. I'm more of a Seinfeld/Simpson's fan, but I don't even have cable now."
"Yeah, it is interesting how people Steve's age are more into Friends, you know mid to late thirties, and I'd say people your age--you're 27?"
"Twenty-eight," I correct him just as I did with everyone at Ithaca College who thought I was 25 or 26, as if a few years makes that much of a difference.
"Oh, see, I'd imagine you wouldn't really relate to that show, because you are a bit younger."
"No, and I don't relate to whatever bullshit on MTV that's used for ratings as opposed to honoring good music with videos and intelligent commentary, instead of some anorexic blonde with large tits and a small brain," I continue over his loudly cheerful laughter, "Listen to me, I sound so bitter, so old now."
His laugh decrescendos, "Yeah, it happens, you find yourself looking back and not relating to the younger generations the older you get."
"However, you and I have a lot of the same tastes, and, by the way, I would have never guessed you were in your fifties."
He moves his hands from behind his head and places them on top of his dark hair, highlighted only with a few flecks of gray, "Thank you, Ashley, that means a lot to me, and I guess we do have a lot of the same tastes, you're right."
"I'm an old soul, at least that's what I've been told by several people older than you," I smile as Tiffany makes her house-lit entrance onto the dark, conversation-lit porch.
"Is that right? Yeah, I guess that's a good description of you."
We stop to listen to the trees, the noise they make when there's no television, music, music television, conversation, conversations about music, or music television conversations.
"What about you, Tiffany? Are you an old soul?" he looks over at her and sits upright in the recliner for a better view of her expression, which, if published, would be in the "shy and unsure but hopeful" section at the bookstore.

---

"Did I tell you I have a new blog?"
"No, you didn't."
"Yeah, I wanted a wider audience, but it kind of changes the dynamic without knowing who is actually reading it..plus, the new audience doesn't have the background of the other blogs and the old audience won't go to the new spot, at least that's what I've found when people email or post 'I've started a new blog @ whatever dot com,' know what I mean?"
"You know how little I know about blogs but that makes sense..Ashley, what's that noise?"
"Oh you mean the traffic? Or the band?"
"Uh, the traffic, I guess, are you near a busy street?"
"Yeah I'm at this new record store waiting for my friend Steve's friend Tom's band to begin."
"What?"
"Wait, I'll move closer to the building," I find a spot in the parking lot close to the building with a place to sit down, "Is that better?" I ask as I take a sip from my contraband beer, hidden in a Gimme travel mug.
"Yes, much, now, what did you say about your friend Steve's band? I didn't know he was in a band."
"No, Steve's friend Tom from Chicago has a band, and I made dinner for them tonight in fact, since they are all Vegan--Steve volunteered me as the official cook of the evening and I made your favorite stir-fry. They are playing at this new local record store, which reminds me of High Fidelity in fact..isn't that one of your favorite movies?"
"Yes, it is, I'm shocked you remembered that."
"I do listen to my closest friends, you know," even though we haven't spoken for over twenty minutes in weeks, "Anyway, I may have to go soon because it sounds like they are finished warming up; I just wanted to set up a time when we can talk at length and to tell you that after looking at our finances, I'm afraid I can't loan you that money. But, I do want to emphasize that if I had it, you know I'd mail you a check today..it's just, after my fucking computer crashed, and then the moving costs, and Ithaca College took out a helluva lot more taxes than I remembered, and we aren't even sure Tiff will get this job, even though the phone interview went well, she still has to go for an in-person interview and even then, we won't know for a while--"
"It's ok," she stops me before I go on, "I found the money, and I've begun the process of developing a budget."
"That's great!" I say over the drums and keyboard, "Oh, it sounds like...yeah, I see Tiff coming out to get me..I have to go."
"How is Saturday afternoon?"
"Perfect, I'll call you then."
"Wait! How are you and Tiffany doing?"
I watch Tiff's typical tilted-head-walk as she approaches me in the Ithacan summer dusk and smile into the phone, "Like listening to 'I want my MTV' with an old soul."

---

"Sorry we're late. Gimme wasn't at the Farmer's Market and we needed some coffee."
"It's okay, now, did you decide what you want to talk about?" Dwight asks, looking at each of us for answer, like an oscillating fan.
"I thought, I mean, I assumed we'd talk about the big issue, the one that's caused all the problems and breakdown in communication."
"Well, Ashley," he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, initiating his lecture on practicing Imago dialogues with the elephant in the room, "Most people start with something small just to get the practice, since larger issues are already packed with tension, you know? I mean, we don't want to begin too heavy because it may negatively impact the process since it really is supposed to be about you and what your partner can do for you; you have to understand that you will not solve all your problems in one weekend intensive," he looks at Tiffany, "What are your thoughts?"
She shrugs her shoulders, initiating the quiver of her lips and the redeye release of tears sequestered out of the fear of our future haunting our past, of our past initiating our future.
"I didn't expect to solve everything in one weekend," I say trying to save her from not knowing what to say, "I just thought we were trying to initiate a conversation, like two people from different generations trying to agree on Nina Simone or Belle & Sebastian."
He looks confused. I look at Tiffany. She looks beautiful, smiling, crying, speaking our secret language of lyrics and looking for the pleasure we knew was so far gone.
"I just don't want to be able to take my eyes off of her," I say in reference to the mix cd I made for her, counting down the songs we've heard together to the last, most important one with the final, most important words...

"If you still want me, please forgive me." --Arcade Fire

god bless the arcade fire's lyrics, and the maclike speed of itunes