Brian silently motioned me into the den, away from the kids, who had invaded every other corner of the big house.
I was visiting my sister’s family in Denver, and we’d all come to Brian and Meredith’s for a Memorial Day BBQ. Brian was done cooking; we’d all eaten (Sophie had actually consumed a buffalo burger, then passed out in front of Elmo on the living room TV; Annabelle was in the basement playing frisbee) and everyone else was distracted by ice cream sundaes.
Brian shut the doors to the small office, closed the blinds, and my brother in law Jonathan quietly joined us a few minutes later.
I felt like I’d been invited into the drug room to try someone’s new baggie of crack, and in a way, I had been.
Waving me into his comfy office chair, Brian leaned over and pulled up YouTube on his Dell, plugged in some key words, and stepped back.
Two dorky guys on stools, with guitars, filled the screen, and the dorkier of the two started singing about “Business Time” — part Adam Sandler, part Hall and Oates, maybe even a little Ween (Ray’s obvservation when he saw it later) — and we all laughed til our sides hurt, even though Brian and Jonathan had seen this clip before, probably more than once.
Yes, I’m the last person to hear about “Flight of the Conchords”.
I can barely keep up with the latest funky kids’ music (Bare Naked Ladies’ “Snacktime”) and the best kids’ cable TV show (“Jack’s BIg Music Show”). Beyond that, I’m so culturally clueless I haven’t even heard of the hottest new show on HBO.
Of course, now that I’ve been tipped off, those Conchord guys are everywhere: On a poster on a co-worker’s office wall, on the cover of the Bust magazine I read last month (obviously not very closely, I now realize — I read right past them), all over the Web.
Honestly, I’m already sort of sick of them, and I haven’t even seen their show.
That’s so totally a lie. I’m off now, to channel surf.