"It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh
It was gooood, living with you, wah-oh."
--Better Than Ezra, on skipping vinyl


Something comically embarrassing happened to me yesterday. See, about three-four weeks ago, I bought this keychain, which is attached to a base that emits a piercing alarm when separated from the keys. The best way to describe the sound is--well, attach a microphone to a hamster on a sugar high, then run him across a cheesegrater about 72 times. I didn't discover this until one night, while I was being very dapper and twirling my keychain on my forefinger in the privacy of my own apartment, the keys went free, and the base sailed squealing and screeching toward the sliver between my bed and the wall. No one was hurt in the freak accident, though it was slightly uncomfortable for me, having to leap onto my bed and dig my arm down into a void of magazines frantically trying to find the goddamn thing. There've been no incidents since, until....

Last night I'm coming home from work on the bus. My earphones are plastered to my head, blasting a work project. The crowd is quiet, contemplative perhaps. It's a very peaceful public benzo roll. Then suddenly, during a feedback lull, I detect a peculiar chirping within my pants. People are turning their heads, their brows digging into their eyelids. What the fuck is that noise? The earphones are immediately ripped free, then my right hand digs into my right pocket in a frantic attempt at being inconspicuous. I'm going to reunite base and keys right then and there, no frills, no thrills. This proves to be a problem because the base is very unpredictable and sensitive, and responds to even the slightest touch, so I have to very gingerly turn it in my fingers and muffle whatever cranky wails it decides to produce, using my forefinger and thumb to insert the key pin into a tiny hole, which is difficult because A.) I can't see what I'm doing; B.) I'm trying to appear nonchalant, like nothing's going on; and C.) I'm working in a very limited space, where my work ID card also happens to be. For a few minutes I sweat it out while my fellow commuters think I'm suffocating a dying bird, then finally I announce, "OK, this is gonna be really, like, loud, OK?" Out comes the base like a squalling baby from the womb, and it's all over within seconds.

Let this be a lesson to you all: Keep your keychains simple, and you won't end up like Mr. Chirpypants.