In a restaurant where music is playing over the sound system.
Me: Jeeze, I’ve heard this song three times in the last two days.
The Queen: What is it?
Me: “Last Train To Clarksville,” by The Monkees
Q: Are you sure it’s not the Beatles? It sounds like the Beatles.
Me: No, I’m certain it’s The Monkees. I listened to a lot of Monkees when I was in high school.
Q: You’re kidding me. The Monkees? I thought you liked Talking Heads and The Smiths and stuff.
Me: I did, but … well, there was this girl that I was friends with in high school, and she really liked the Monkees, so I listened to a lot of Monkees too. That’s how I was, then — I just listened to whatever my close friends liked to so we’d have something in common. I listened to Talking Heads because my buddy M. liked them, and I listened to The Smiths because my friend J. liked them, and listened to The Monkees because this girl was way into The Monkees, and so on. I mean, when it comes to music I’ve always been a poseur — but I know I’m a poseur and I don’t pretend that I’m not, so I guess that makes it okay.
Q: I have to pee.
Me: You have to …? I spill my guts, I reveal this fascinating insight into my personality and psychological makeup, and all you can say is “I have to pee”?!
Q: So it seems, poseur.