Mind Crisis

        Bringing down the recyclables this morning, two women walked by me and said hello. I said hello back, and one of them slowed down. Maybe the screaming florescent lime green sweat pants I was wearing emboldened her to ask “Do you live in this purple house?”. “Sure do” I replied. By this time her friend had stopped as well and smiled at me. I smiled back. There was a friendly, immediate sense of ease between the three of us, the kind you often get when you see people just after sunrise. That feeling that the whole world belongs to you at that early hour of the day fosters an instant, impermanent bond. The first woman then said “Can I ask you a question?”. I replied “You already have, but you can ask another one”. All three of us laughed. She continued, “Were you in an eighties hair band or something?”.
        The rumor that has persisted around my little town is that I was a drummer in an eighties hair band, went a little crazy, bought this house, and painted it purple. Well who the hell am I to get in the way of a good rumor? I don’t go around propagating this nonsense, but I’ve never actively dissuaded it either. And I wasn’t going to start now. It’s a great story, a harmless bit of misinformation, and lots of fun to play with.
        So I said to the women “Yes, I was. I was in a band called Mind Crisis.” Sometimes I’ll say that I was a member of “Whitesnake” if I’m approached by people who look like they know something about heavy metal. This is because Whitesnake is a real band, and they’ve had lots of drummers. And very few people know who those drummers were. I do, and now you will too: Ian Paice, Cozy Powell, Ansley Dunbar, Tommy Aldridge, and Denny Carmassi. All incredible players. My only twinge of guilt when I bullshit about this is that I am absolutely not worthy of being mentioned in the same sentence as those monsters. But if I ever met one of them, I think they would find the whole story amusing and forgive my indiscretion.
        I’m aware that this may all appear hypocritical. After all, I’m pontificating about the values of being yourself, and here I am pretty much lying about who I am. That’s one way to look at it, and not necessarily wrong. But I make this distinction: sometimes being myself means playing a part, just for a little while, just for fun. I’m not kidding myself, and all I’m gaining is a good story. I would never manipulate somebody into believing this tripe in order to get something. And if I got to know these women at all, I would ‘fess up to this little charade as soon the joke had run it’s course.
        Anyway, I went with “Mind Crisis” because that’s a fictitious band that sounds like a hair band from the eighties. The woman nodded and said “Oh wow.” Probably because we had developed a rapport, she blurted out “Why did you paint your house purple?”. I get this a lot, and my response is always the same. Without skipping a beat I said “For the only reason that matters when it comes to what color to paint your house. Because I wanted to.” No jesting there. That’s as authentic as it gets. She looked at me, wearing these florescent lime green sweat pants, standing in front of a purple house, laughed, and said with no malice in her voice whatsoever “That’s not what we heard!” I replied, smiling from ear to ear, “I know what you heard.” She laughed even harder.
        Sometimes my life is a lot of fun.

 © 2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and Wrongs) Reserved