Incongruous Body Earthquakes

Yesterday one year ago, Zachary, my wife and I found ourselves somewhat inebriated at the Short Stop (a bar) in Echo Park. While attempting to wave the bartender down for another round, I accidentally bumped into a large, Afroed black man wearing a Punisher t-shirt, shaking spasmodically.
“What are you doing, man?” I asked him.
“The Future, my friend, is not about dancing,” he said. “The Future is about Incongruous Body Earthquakes.”
I had always felt confined by the statutes of regular dancing, so I thought I’d give it a whirl. I shook, I quaked. It felt good.
“Dancing is all about the Rules of Rhythm. In the Future, we will all be free from such icy regulations. Everyone will be free to have her own individual Incongruous Body Earthquakes wherever, whenever. With or without music.”
Zachary and my wife felt my Earthquakes, and soon we were all shaking wildly in the middle of the bar. This was how we met Future Joe.

Future Joe informed us that he came from the Future. (We later learned that he’s also an animator for the Simpsons, and has worked on side-projects with Mark Mothersbaugh and William Shatner, but that sort of thing is to be expected from someone with time-travel capabilities.) Because he came from the Future, he knew that there was a kick-ass party just down the street—he had been there before when it was still years away from us—and that we should all make haste over there as quickly as possible. Make haste we did, and sure enough, there was a kick-ass party going on.

Before long, Future Joe had taken over the party’s turntables and constructed a lengthy set of songs from the owner of the house’s record collection, all containing the word “Future.” ‘The Future’ by Leonard Cohen, ‘Fly Like an Eagle’ by the Steve Miller Band, ‘We Are the World,’ songs like that. It was an Incongruous Earthquake of a set, and it was lost on most of the partiers save for our posse and an enlightened few who had also freed themselves from the Rules of Rhythm. Then an elderly woman, perhaps overwhelmed by his Future appeal, dove at Joe from behind a stack of records and attempted to lick him.
“Shake it off Boo-Boo! Shake it off!” shouted Future Joe.
But she would not shake it off. She tried to lick him again.
“Frankenstein Ninja Assassin!” he shouted. “You must shake it off!”
But she would not shake it off. She dove at him a third time.
“Boo-boo!” he shouted. “Please shake it off!” This time he retreated to the backyard, hopped a fence, and disappeared into the Future. We haven’t seen him since.

In the States, somewhere along the path of history it was decided that the last weekend of May would be forever known as Memorial Day Weekend, and that Monday would be included in that Weekend to give it some extra weight. Every Memorial Day Weekend, citizens of our fine country are encouraged to remember the sacrifices of fallen soldiers from wars past, and to eat large quantities of BBQ-ed meats. This Memorial Day Weekend, I set out a rack of ribs in memoriam of the man who sacrificed himself so that I may live free from the shackles of Rhythm. Hopefully somewhere in the Future he is enjoying them.

Thanks to everyone who’s bought the ‘Say Yes’ single, and no thanks to those of you who haven’t. (OK, thanks to those of you who haven’t as well.)

-Ben Lee