You log onto Spotify. You click the search bar. You frantically type in “mac.” You realize you could have probably just typed in “M” because what bigger “M” artist is there than Mac Miller? Your hand starts to shake as you click on the name, which may as well have been inscribed in #ffd700. After a quick scroll, you’re in.
You try and double click on the intro track, “Doors,” but you miss the second click and have to repeat the process all over again. You miss the second attempt.“Fuck,” you utter to the empty room. You take a sip of the Miller Light classic logo aluminum bottle-can that you’ve fetched from the mini-fridge. It was originally intended for the most serene listening experience, however, now it’s become a tool to calm your nervous hands, just as it did at Alfred a couple years ago before that huge exam. Lucky for you, (well, luck and a sip of that cold can,) your third attempt renders you successful and the fun begins.
You forgot to turn on the speakers, as you watch the time of the song tick by silently. Your hands, already trembling from the excitement that comes with a new “Larry Fisherman” album, yank desperately at the chords coming off of the JBL powerhouses that you used your parents’ money to buy at the campus bookstore 6 years ago. You follow the chord, and after a taxing journey that involved finishing the first half of that aluminum rocket by your side, you reach the computer tower. Still plugged in.
You have a flashback to that wicked game of slap-cup you had down in this very basement last Thursday night. Oh man it was great. I mean you guys didn’t drink as much as you did back in those legendary college days, but most of the night was the same, Jake brought the addies, Max drank more than his already huge body should be able to hold, and Ralph. Fucking pussy ass “oh I don’t wanna go home with her she’s too drunk” Ralph. Went to slap a cup that was completely full. And of course, almost ALL of the beer ended up on the speakers, completely fucking up the “Pabst and Jazz” by Asher Roth jam sesh you had going on.
So instead, it’s going to be the laptop. You turn it on. And wait. And wait. You finish your brewski. In the short time you take to consider grabbing another one, you look your vintage Rusty Wallace fathead in the eyes as if to ask the Miller Lite number 2 car driver permission to “beer up.” You crack that baby open, and Windows Vista opens up. The little golden lab stares at you as if it’s making fun of you for forgetting the password.
Okay so maybe it isn’t happening right now. You know your dad is upstairs and gets upset when you listen to your “cool” music; and while you don’t know why, you know that he’s vying for your banishment from your dorm-themed basement. He just doesn’t get that this album is gonna prove, for sure, that Mac Miller is more than just “frat boy” music. This shit is probably gonna be like the next Beatles or something, you know, if they were still alive.
“Man, you know what? I haven’t played Gears of War in like… months,” you think, as you move on to the next chapter of your day.