Blog in which the proto-Rufus discusses music
Boy: I hate this song.
The boy removes his headphones.
Boy: The lyrics are a lie; it is not true that “where you spend your love, you spend your life.”
Mother: Are you talking to me?
Boy: No! No, just continue doing… whatever you are doing.
Mother: I’m cleaning the toilet again.
Boy, to himself: What is it with that woman and the toilet?
Mother, not hearing but perceiving: You are on the toilet so much, what else can I do?
Boy, to himself mostly: Uh, anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes: spending one’s love and that “time spent” being synonymous with spending one’s life. How many of us live in these horrid apartment buildings and can do nothing about it? How many of us spend our lives and die inside of a little box atop a lot of other little boxes making money for someone who figured it out the previous generation, who bought the land, built the apartment building, and sold each unit for twice the price of the original piece of land so that this person could be a fat spider while we eke out a frugal existence. Oh, and how many of us “spend time” completely bored out of our minds and, well, we can just die that way—I could die in five minutes. Ooh, what about incarcerated persons? They “spend time” and, presumably, don’t love anything.
The mother enters the room.
Mother: Are you talking to yourself?
Boy: Not necessarily.
Mother: Well, I didn’t hear everything, but I assume that the lyrics mention spending love, not spending time. Where you spend your love, you spend your life. Time and love aren’t the same thing, you know.
Boy: But plenty of people spend their lives without love. The lyrics of this song are just a, a, a, a stupid line. Really a lie, actually.
Mother: If you don’t want to listen to music on the sofa, maybe you could spend your time better with me by cleaning the bathroom.
Boy: Haha!
Mother: Well?
Boy: Oh, you were serious?
Mother: Was I?
Boy: Does it smell?
Mother: I’m using vinegar to clean.
Boy: Oh, barf. I hate that smell. I’m not going near you for the next twenty-four hours.
Mother: But I thought we were going out for a pizza tonight?
Boy: Is it Friday? Wow, time really flew this week.
Mother: You spent it with me, my love.
Boy: Ah, I see what you did there.
Mother: Do you?
Boy: Will you shower before we go? The vinegar smell, you know?
Mother: Will you be using the toilet before we go?
Boy: No?
Mother: No?
Boy: Okay?
Mother: Alright?
Boy: I’m happy we’ve had this conversation?
Mother: Me too?
The end.