I was in Real City yesterday, where I picked up a CD about which I knew nothing and was pleasantly surprised. More on that in a bit. One thing I noticed, however, was that the Chick-fil-A on the main shopping drag was doing land-office business. Cars swarmed the parking lot and drive-through like marabunta ants. This was true both at a traditional lunch time and at an hour closer to tea time.
Of course, Real City is a place that cheerfully started a war on the grounds that “You ain’t the boss of me”, so YMMV. It’s also worth noting that a local restaurant chain flies the Confederate Battle Flag at all its stores, and while I can hardly find anyone who admits to eating there, I also haven’t noticed any of its locations closing. On the other hand, I suspect that some of the customers may well be weary of being told that holding a position that is shared by about half the country makes them bigots, spewers of hate, or homophobic (a term which itself carries connotations of mental illness.)
As it happens (and as I’ve said previously), I tend to think that if the State has to be involved in relational pairings, then same-sex pairings are a legitimate option. More bluntly, as the saying goes, I tend to think that consenting adults should be able to do what they want, as long as they don’t do it in the street and scare the horses. And as I’ve also noted, I don’t eat at C-f-A, for reasons that have nothing to do with any of this. All the same, I fail to see a reason to insist that business owners agree with me on every — or even any — issue. Heck, as a conservative English prof, I’d probably be unable to find a place to work. And I hope those swarms of customers enjoyed their snacks.
But as I mentioned earlier, I also took a six-buck gamble at the record store in Real City. I was browsing through the used bins when I saw a CD from a group I had never heard of before. Indeed, I didn’t even know what group it was — there was no way to distinguish the band name from the album title (or even the label) based on the typography. The cover looked kind of sixtiesish, and I noticed one of the tracks was 13 minutes long, so I thought it might be interesting, but even a visit to the scan-and-sample kiosk failed — the album wasn’t in the computer’s files. I asked the manager if he knew anything about it. He’s a veteran of my “stump the staff” searches, but he pulled a blank, and even offered me the compliment of saying that if neither he nor I had heard of it, it probably wouldn’t show up at the store again. So with a “What the heck”, I ponied up my six bucks and wandered out to the van. When I opened it, I found no further info on the band (although I did figure out that Group 1850 was the band’s name, which made the album’s title Agemo’s Trip to Mother Earth, which meant I was probably getting something that smelled like oregano), but I saw that the label also had put out albums from Cuby and the Blizzards and from Golden Earrings (the group dropped the plural sometime before “Radar Love.”) So when I got to the frappuccino preserve, I confirmed my suspicion that the group was both Dutch (like their labelmates) and psychedelic. This was their first album, and despite some obvious debts to Zappa and Barrett-era Floyd, it’s pretty good. So the gamble paid off. Here’s a sample — although the single’s cover is not the album’s. And now off to band practice.