Music Makers

Cuss spree . . . no, I'm better than that. But why the hell is everyone voting for Dave? The poll currently stands with Dave claiming 53% of the pot. Not cool. Eight days left -- vote if you haven't, and tell each human you've ever come in contact with to vote. Babe, if you're at a library, vote on all the computers. School? Same deal.

Truly, this doesn't surprise me. My readership is largely male, and Dave's a pretty cool and balanced kid. The default choice. We all love Ant, but do we all love to spite him more? Ant's attractive, but is he also attractively repulsive? Etcetera.

Recently, Dave's been strutting through life like Notorious B.I.G. -- head simultaneously raised above everyone else's, saying "sky's the limit, bitches," and lowered, to remind bystanders of their inferiority. I created a monster, dagnabbit! Dave seldom speaks to his peers now, and has publicly declared Nutley "uninhabitable." I saw him at town hall surrounded by a slew of folks looking for an explanation to these current poll standings and mostly, his new snobby disposition.

"Mr. C, how do you explain your popularity?"

"Mr. C, do you stand by what you said about Nutley?"

"Mr. C, did you hack Nick Rapper's poll?"

Those are some of the inquisitions I heard when I ran into the chaos, armed with only my social status. I managed to reach Dave, breaking AJ's microphone and stepping on Katie's Uggs in the process.

"Dave, I need to talk to you! This is ridiculous," I exclaimed.

The questions came at both of us now, and the police were probably on their way, just to turn turmoil into fireworks, ya know. I grabbed Dave, and we broke free of the local press; we ran to the Mud Hole, tranquility still a fair way to go.

"Stop acting like a dick, bro," I said when we reached a secluded spot.

He laughed shortly and sweetly, then said, "You're overreacting dude. But yeah I'ma enjoy my new 'fame' or whatever you wanna call it. I was laughing at those people's faces dude. I didn't even care. Did you know Katie was a reporter?"

"If you read the paper, faggot, which I can accurately report is less credible than my blog, LOL, you'd know Katie's a reporter. See, you don't even pay attention to anything other than yourself now. You're out of the loop, you're --"

"False! Okay, maybe, ha."

"Dude, you're embroiled in all this controversy 'n ya gotta act on it. Just tell the people the boring truth and they'll leave ya alone."

"Ha ha, 'embroiled.' This isn't that big of a deal, seriously. I like them askin' me questions. If I tell them the truth they will just move on. I'm tryin' to milk this fame bro."

"You always get the long end of the stick!" was my corny, jealousy-infused response. Didn't matter -- the crew, en masse, had found us.

"Dave!"

"Mr. C!"

"Dave!"

Neither of us ran, although we did try drifting from the lot -- okay, Dave jumped into the pile of reporters like a morbidly obese child would jump into an ocean of pudding. Not sure if he was high, but before I entirely cleared the scene I heard him talking like a first-class stoner! Shit, more controversy for the media to feed on!

Originally I was running for fear of questioning. Eventually I started enjoying the exercise, and ran for my own happiness and well-being. I slowed down, though, scanning faces in the parks, searching for that familiar symbol of positive conversation etched in many o' men. In Booth I saw another large group, loud and hectic. The center of attention was, yep, Miss Jen A.

The whole scene was deliriously unreal. Nutley isn't exactly a town of big stories and famous media players. Not just that -- Jen's boyfriend, yes her actual boyfriend, had his arms around her protectively. But the man was so shocked by everything that threats didn't ensue -- Scott repeatedly told them to just "go away, please." Eventually, a "so ridiculous" flew from his mouth -- I intervened. This was my fault, if you deduce.

"Look, it's Dave! He's off to Burger King!" The onslaught of press reps fled. I told Jen and Scott to dismiss, immediately but not in haste. I shook off a few thank yous and announced: "I've got bigger issues to resolve, guys. See ya around!"

I needed energy -- Burger King it was. I bought a mocha, and downed it seconds after reception. Wasn't enough. Took out my iPod, landed on "Fireflies," and began my mission. You kids like The Lonely Island -- guys behind "I'm On a Boat" and "Jizz in My Pants" -- right? Those dudes are quite comical. But nothing tops Owl City's jam in the laugh department. I was juiced.

On Franklin Avenue I caught a glimpse of AJ. He was on his bike, and I approached him carefully.

"Sorry to break your mic man . . ." I tried.

"Seriously Nick just leave."

"Just have a question. Where is Dave? What have they done to him?"

"Really. Come on -- why the deuce would I know?"

"Call one of your reporter buddies."

"No. Get me a new mic. Look, Nutley's never seen such, like, action. Not like that. I needed a good story."

"Of course I'll buy you a new mic. That's beside the point. Whatever, see ya later." He biked on; I jogged on.

Police sirens located Dave's location as the, hmmm, tail end of the Mud Hole. I sprinted there. I was ecstatic to see cops at first -- they'd isolate Dave. But then I thought, "They're gonna take down my blog 'cause it caused this much disruption. Shit."

Luckily, Dave's been mugged . . . he has a good relationship with local authorities. He was able to put the blame directly on the reporters, ignoring my existence in relation to journalists being, well, assholes. By the evening it was him and I, in controlled discourse, recounting and putting forth ideas.

"Dave, it's not just you, though. Maybe you like this shit. Ya shoulda seen Jen, though. She literally looked like a kitten, being continually harassed by a squirrel, while her momma tried to fend the evil grey critters off," I offered.

"Worst analogy ever. I'm telling Scott you called him a girl."

"Worst idea ever. I wouldn't talk to Scott just yet -- remember, dummy."

"Oh no, I don't!" Dave retorted, sarcastically.

"Look, Nutley won't take this. Just admit it -- you're happy the cops came."

"Meh -- I was enjoying every bit of this shit. It's not gonna end, either."

"Keep thinkin' that, buddy."

That night I cursed Jenna, AJ, Abby, Katie et al. -- all those amateur journalists devouring a small case of local stardom. The relationship between Dave and his schoolmates was going to be closer to normal. That much I was sure of. But his poise, his confidence -- it wouldn't leave. Some of the journalists' inquiries were pretty solid. Maybe he did hack the poll. Maybe Nick L did it. I leave you with nothing more than a humble desire -- Brangelina, Bennifer, what's next? Jave or . . . Den?