I’m Sorry, April
Dina Butler enters an elevator with Clay Aiken and leaves a devoted Radiohead fan
Any time I visit NYC I have an eventful time. Most memories would be inappropriate to recount here on the off chance a family member stumbles upon this site, but my last visit was both noteworthy and suitable for all ages. It began with a bang and kept up over the course of the weekend.
About halfway through my drive down from upstate, I received a call from the girlfriend I was visiting, April, and she told me that her dog, Zeus, had been hit by a car. She wasn’t calling to say I couldn’t come, but just to inform me that she might not be in the best of moods. This conversation was one of the most uncomfortable in my life because I wanted to laugh and I’m sure you all know that trying not to laugh at something remotely comical only grows into holding back tremendous laughter. I know this sounds terrible but she had one of those little dogs and I don’t like little dogs and imagining this pound of hair get run over by a car was too much, but I made it through the conversation. And I almost had to pull over after hanging up.
Zeus was dead by the way.
April didn’t go out that night but I still got wild with her roommates who I knew from school. I was having fun but I was afraid that a dead dog would be the highlight of the weekend, which is a little too morbid even for me. The next morning I went out for brunch with April and she seemed in better spirits. I was sitting outside in New York on a beautiful Saturday morning with my best friend from college and I actually got her laughing. Next thing I know we’re in her building and getting in the elevator with someone I think looks exactly like Clay Aiken, a slim, seemingly fragile male, and I, in fact, take him to be Clay Aiken. Confirming my suspicion was April’s silence and wide eyes. We rode a few floors up and she nudged me and nodded to me as if agreeing, “We’re in an elevator with a fucking American Idol.” I should point out that he was in front of us, which excuses our obvious giddiness and hopefully excuses me for not getting a good look at him. Anyway, I thought I’d be the brave one and say something to him since it was clear that April would not speak and probably could not. I was sure others like her had had the same reaction to the likes of Ruben Studdard and Sanjaya.
“Excuse me,” I was out there and there was no going back. “I just wanted to say that I’m…we’re both, the two of us are both big fans.” Clay thanked us modestly and quietly. Then I exposed myself for the fraud I was.
“I heard that you’ve been working on your next album and you’re going to write some of the songs on it?”
Clay turned to me and I finally realized this wasn’t Clay Aiken. I didn’t know who it was at the time but I knew it wasn’t Clay and I was not speaking to him from then on.
What’s funny is that he giggled when he looked at me and said, “Yeah, I’m thinking about it.” He didn’t sound like Clay Aiken.
Luckily we got off soon after and once we got into April’s apartment she grabbed me.
“What the hell were you babbling about?”
“I thought that was Clay Aiken at first. I thought that’s why you nudged me.”
We both started to laugh but unfortunately I was still in the dark.
“That was Thom Yorke,” she told me. “He’s the singer in Radiohead.”
I assume I blushed. Everyone knows Radiohead, including me, and I even knew who Thom Yorke was, mostly because “Tom” was spelled with an “h”, but I didn’t know what he looked like. Needless to say she made fun of me for the next few hours.
“He doesn’t even look like Clay Aiken. Have you seen Clay’s hair recently? He has very gay hair.”
“He looked pretty gay to me,” I said. (And you have to back me up, don’t they look similar?)
April went on and on about our encounter with Clay/Thom for the rest of the weekend and everyone ate it up. I was so close to bringing up her dead dog the whole time, but managed to control the urge. Perhaps this story is my revenge?
But looking back, I can say that my moment of complete stupidity helped a friend escape grief for a short period of time. Doesn’t that make embarrassment worth something? The rest of the weekend was a blast. I love ya Ape-ril.
I realize reading over this now that this story seems lame and unfunny. I come off as a thoughtless, ditzy, superficial bitch, and a little dog died, so I’ve decided to elaborate on the story using my newfound awareness.
First of all, Zeus didn’t die. He got hit by a car but lived, hence earning him the nickname “Death Proof,” which made perfect sense to all of us considering he’s a huge Tarantino fan. April and I had brunch with LC and Kristin from the original “Laguna Beach” and the meal ended with me bending over and farting in LC’s face and saying, “I thought I saw nickel.” We then got into a luxurious elevator with Thom Yorke and he gave us the once over with his creepy eye. We sat on the plush cushions alongside each of the three interior walls and started up. All of a sudden we got stuck. Frozen. Suspended. My first instinct was to press the emergency call button but Thom waved me off. He said we should take this time to get to know each other. “Consider it a blessing. Fate even,” he said. April and I told him some college stories. He asked us what music we like and when April mentioned Weezer Thom laughed in disgust. He then went into great detail about a thorough thrashing he gave Rivers Cuomo after the Weezer singer had apparently bragged about his 20/20 vision. Cuomo now wears glasses.
I tend to get anxious in confined places so I insisted that we call somebody to rescue us but Thom assured me we were in a good place.
“What’s the matter with you? We’re stuck,” I said.
“Darling, don’t you see? We’re in the the Great Glass Wonkavator. Why…we can go sideways and slantways and longways and backways and squareways and frontways…”
“Squareways? What the fuck are you talking about?” April asked.
“Honey, touch that button.” He pointed to the button that read “Run/Stop.”
April pushed it, releasing the red button and the car continued upward.
“What are you doing in my building?” April asked.
“Ben Folds has been talking some smack. I found out he’s in New York, staying here, and I figured I’d drown him slowly.”
He got off on the second to last floor. Scuffling and falsetto-ing ensued.
“By the beard of Zeus, in the time it took for the doors to close I’ve never heard so much pain,” April said.
“Did you ever notice the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus is like ‘Hey Zeus?’” I asked April, a devout Christian.
“Gracias,” she said, and then she smiled.
DB
