Get On Up
So last night I dreamed that some sort of alien race was taking over the earth, or maybe just Tulsa, bodysnatcher-style, and my parents and I were sitting on a park bench in Utica Square, watching them file earthlings out in long lines. There was the line of the rich and famous led by some flamboyantly dressed old woman, and then the line of the children, led, obviously, by James Brown.
James Brown wasn’t really James Brown, of course—he was alien-bodysnatched James Brown, but evidently only my parents and I knew this, because all these little children were following him down the road between Saks and the Stonehorse Cafe. Then Alien Bodysnatcher James Brown made an obligatory stab at a James Brown impersonation, saying flatly, “Da da da, get on up.” No emotion, just like that.
For me, this was just the last straw, so I lept from my park bench, casting aside the hot chocolate candle I had been eating with a spoon (naturally), and confronted him.
”What was that?” I spat. “’Da da da’? Are you kidding me?”
Everyone turned to look at me in awe and horror, and I had a brief realization that this might be it for me, but I was very proud that this might be the way I went, taunting Alien Bodysnatcher James Brown for just phoning it in.
Of course, then I woke up.