Modest Mouse // Florida


It was always worth it // That’s the part I seem to hide

Last week I got a text from a friend who was still at work that read, “Pack your shit. we’re driving to Florida tonight.” It was 4 in the afternoon and I was picking up a bottle of liquor for a family bbq that was in an hour — how the fuck was I driving to Florida in less than three?

Surely enough, there I am in the driver’s seat as my friend was passed out to my right, dog in the back sleeping soundly, driving to Ocean City to pick up our third amigo. I guess looking back it wasn’t really planned all the best, but it worked out better than fine. We went to Florida, packed up the apartment she was moving out of, rented a 16 ft. Uhaul, and hauled ass back a few days later with my record driving of 14 straight hours. That’s what a high metabolism and lots of energy gets you — the shittiest driving shifts while your friends get to snooze. But don’t get me wrong, there was enough whiskey, swimming, and peeing from laughing that reminded me to bite the bullet and get us home safely in one piece so we’d be able to do it all over.

Florida — the trip and the song — reminds me all too much of living life on the edge.

I dated this very gorgeous boy from Philly who introduced me to the stories of Modest Mouse frontman Isaac Brock and all the wonders of the band. He was this young, black-haired musician who always had respectable bud and a down-for-whatever attitude that I have a hard time finding in most people.

I’d meet him outside of a bar in Old City and smoke a J in the middle of winter, freezing in my mini skirt, only to have him offer up his jacket and then shotgun a heavy hit my way. Many times I’d hike to his house in a brutal snowstorm only to be greeted by a packed bong and a blackened room where we’d get so stoned that we’d write our big dreams out on post-it notes and tack them to his wall. He introduced me to what I like to call Shulgin aftereffects: the moment when it’s supposed to be black out, yet your pupils are so big that all you see is a rainbow of color coming from streetlights and passing cars, windows and puddles. This kid had so many tricks up his sleeve that it was too easy to be raptured into his fiery lust for life.

I’m sick in love with this song. The fierce attack from the immediate start coupled by the whoa-o-oahhh’s from the chorus are big contributors to my long-lasting love. Apart from this, I find the abnormality in structure very enticing considering it’s so back and forth, up and down, and all around the world. Isaac Brock puts up a solid fight and consistently reminds me in his music that life is brutal yet hilarious and always ready to explode. Just like our trip to Florida and just like the black-haired boy I used to share a bed with — we’re exploding at the seams.

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