Fan Fiction || February 26, 2007
Since I didn't really care about Ben Kweller's self-titled '06 album (I'd call it his The Believer, except it's not THAT awful), I'm not gonna gush about Ben in review form. Instead, here's some fan fiction to prepare you for his gig tonight at the Gypsy Tea Room.
Ben and Me
A story
By Sam Machkovech
"I figured you were going to talk about that." Ben Kweller propped his chair against the wall at the Dairy Queen, leaning back and enjoying slurps of a Blizzard between sentences. It was after I'd had a bite of a Hunger Buster that I slipped, blurting out a lyric from "Dear Aunt Arctica," and boy, was I embarrassed.
We'd had such a good day up until that point; earlier in the day, I recognized Ben at the CD store in the neighborhood. He was flipping through Tom Petty CDs--I couldn't help but notice--and we got to talking about how "American Girl" should've been a bigger hit than any of his other singles. Naturally, we found a common bond pretty quickly and got to talking about the usual stuff. Music...girls...life.
When he asked me if I was free for the rest of the day, I figured he didn't care about my intro to advertising class at 2:30, so off we went to the Dairy Queen down the road ("his favorite," he said roughly, oh, four times). He wanted to walk because it was so nice out, and man, was it! He said the sky was blue like my eyes. I had to pretend I tripped over a stone right after he said that.
I tried as hard as I could not to talk about the obvious stuff--his knack for great melodies and his young career already loaded with mature, unabashed pop-rock--but I guess I couldn't help myself. But, you know, I wasn't surprised when he was so kind about my screw-up. He tossed his lengthy, fluffy hair aside and talked about the old days--when Radish was plucked out of little Dallas and primed to be the next big thing; when the band quietly dissolved; when his solo efforts found fans, friends and financial support. He just talked and talked...I didn't want to interrupt, so I just smiled and nodded.
It was great. And then we made love.
THE END
-SM
Ben and Me
A story
By Sam Machkovech
"I figured you were going to talk about that." Ben Kweller propped his chair against the wall at the Dairy Queen, leaning back and enjoying slurps of a Blizzard between sentences. It was after I'd had a bite of a Hunger Buster that I slipped, blurting out a lyric from "Dear Aunt Arctica," and boy, was I embarrassed.
We'd had such a good day up until that point; earlier in the day, I recognized Ben at the CD store in the neighborhood. He was flipping through Tom Petty CDs--I couldn't help but notice--and we got to talking about how "American Girl" should've been a bigger hit than any of his other singles. Naturally, we found a common bond pretty quickly and got to talking about the usual stuff. Music...girls...life.
When he asked me if I was free for the rest of the day, I figured he didn't care about my intro to advertising class at 2:30, so off we went to the Dairy Queen down the road ("his favorite," he said roughly, oh, four times). He wanted to walk because it was so nice out, and man, was it! He said the sky was blue like my eyes. I had to pretend I tripped over a stone right after he said that.
I tried as hard as I could not to talk about the obvious stuff--his knack for great melodies and his young career already loaded with mature, unabashed pop-rock--but I guess I couldn't help myself. But, you know, I wasn't surprised when he was so kind about my screw-up. He tossed his lengthy, fluffy hair aside and talked about the old days--when Radish was plucked out of little Dallas and primed to be the next big thing; when the band quietly dissolved; when his solo efforts found fans, friends and financial support. He just talked and talked...I didn't want to interrupt, so I just smiled and nodded.
It was great. And then we made love.
THE END
-SM
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