I Met Glizzie and He Did the Bunny Ears Behind My Head in the Photo I Made Him Take With Me

z1050

There it was – written in mechanical pencil lead across the white wall – “Fuck Zac!”

That rat bastard. When he walks into the room, people scream at him. “We hate you, we hate you. Piss! You’re not back on your bullshit, you’re dog shit! Piss off!”

They were right, I wasn’t back on any of my bullshit. Golden Sun, by Goldberg (Track 1), was of no use.

Hours of deep dives, there it was. Glistening/glizzieing; untouched. Waiting for me.

Nobody felt its warmth like me.

Torneró, by I Santo California (Track 2).

“Adesso scrivi aspettami il tempo passera'

Un anno non e' un secolo - tornerò

Com'e' difficile restare senza te.”

“Now write, wait for me, time will pass

A year is not a century - I'll be back

How hard it is to be without you.”

Nobody wrote for me. Nobody waited for me.

Well, maybe Intelligence, by Virna Lindt (Track 3), would work. Pressed play.

They said I had an IQ of zero.

That’s fine, I’ll work all night for this. Insomniac, by Memo Boy (Track 4).

Fell asleep at 9:30.

Come over tomorrow night, let’s talk this over. Pillow Talk, by Sylvia (Track 5).  

Pillows out of floof. Broca’s aphasia.

I thought by now I’d have reached the moon. Love in Outer Space, by Sun Ra (Track 6).

Launch disaster. Not enough momentum. Crash landing. Explosion. Total freak.

I wish people liked my Stories, like Bill Withers (Track 7). Or that I was a Professional, like Gabriels (Track 8).

But no.

After 50 playlists, it’s still Trouble, Heartaches & Sadness, like Ann Peebles (Track 9).

-

https://i.redd.it/2ii8p1pdwin21.jpg

-

“Fuck.

I’m so god-damn nervous. I can’t believe we’re here right now. I don’t even think we know any of these people. We weren’t even invite - Dude. What the hell? Did that guy just… jump off the roof?”

“Motherfucker did a backflip off the roof. May have even been two.”

“Two?”

“Like, a double backflip. Or maybe a McTwist. I only saw the end of it.”

“Oh. Ok yeah. No. No, no no, no. What is this, man? This is way too krazy right now. Let’s just dip. Pretend this never happened.”

“Zack, you’re being the biggest p*ssy ever right now. Chill out.”

They were about three-fourths of the way up the driveway when Nick momentarily stopped walking.

Zack gulped. He thought Nick looked like a freaking New York City businessman. Jacket, nice slacks, some leather shoes, briefcase. Plus, he was walking way too fast, like he was late for work.

Nick reached into his briefcase, a half-empty 18-pack of Coors Light, and yanked one out.

“Here.” He forcefully shoved it at Zack’s chest. “We’re right on time. Well, you know what I mean. Just like we planned it: The party started almost two hours ago. We’ll walk right through the front door, drinking our beers. Nobody will question us. If anything, people will just think we had to go pick up more beer really quick.”

Zack opened his Coors and took a huge sip.

“Ok, fine. This better be worth it.”

“You know it will be. You’re literally the biggest Glizzie fan I know, bro. You do remember that this was your idea in the first place, right?” Nick asked with a smirk on his face.

Zack sighed. Nobody knew it, besides his family of course, but his entire bedroom was decked out in DJ Glizzie swag. Earlier that night, he hung up an I Want to Push Glizzie Off a Cliff poster – it is one of his all-time favorite Glizzie tapes. He been had that Who Killed Glizzie? bedspread; his mom hated it. The image of Bugs Bunny laughing maniacally above Glizzie’s head gave her the creeps. She’d purposefully make Zack’s bed for him so she could cover up Bugs with one of his two pillows, which donned Nightmare in Glizzie Land and Wake Up Glizzie pillowcases, respectively. Zack’s most cherished possession, however, sat on his desk: a Glizzie’s Trap Door skeleton action figure. He fucking loved the cover art for that tape. The skeleton taking Glizzie’s usual spot in the center of the image, and Glizzie’s head floating above the skeleton? To Zack, it was the perfect art for such a badass tape. Plus, he always felt like he was one of the only listeners who really understood Glizzie’s intention with Glizzie’s Trap Door. He knew that Glizzie opened the tape with “Take a Picture”, by Margo Guryan (one of Zack’s all-time favorite Glizzie tracks), because it was a soft, inviting track that would fool the listener into thinking that the tape was going to be one of those soft, lovey-dovey-type Glizzie tapes. But, next thing you know, the trap door opens beneath the listener’s feet. Yup, Glizzie fooled the listener. Turnstile immediately starts playing, and the listener feels like they’re falling down a bottomless pit until their fatal landing coincides with the tape’s epic conclusion: Rage Against The Machine’s “Freedom” (demo version).

“Fuck.” Zack whispered.

Nick was right. Zack couldn’t believe he was about to see Glizzie live. He had dreamed of this moment for over a year.

He chugged the rest of his Coors and demanded another.

“Well let’s get it then.”

-

They made it to the giant double front doors of the Château. Draped above the double doors was an oversized, customized banner that read, “Happy 50th Playlist, Glizzie”, in a sparkling gold font.

Nick figured out the fancy doorknob and barged right in with Zack following. As soon as Zack closed the doors behind him, a drum fill crashed like thunder over the speakers. An organ followed the drums, then, a trumpet and sax in unison. Zack pulled out his phone to grab a Shazam.

“Jet Cool, by Scone Cash Players (Track 10). Rare as fuck.” Zack whispered.

Nick drank a giant swig of Coors and advanced through the foyer. It was early September, just after Nick’s birthday, yet the entrance was lined with creepy Halloween décor. Statues of gargoyles sat at the bases of the symmetrical double staircases that began at the left and right sides of the walls. A skeleton dressed in a top hat and red velvet bathrobe stood at the top of second floor where the two staircases met, smoking a long-ass-Audrey-Hepburn-in-Breakfast-at-Tiffany’s-cigarette as it glared down at the entering visitors. Three black cats slept around its bony feet, shifting all their weight against the bannister that was propping the skeleton up.

Zack looked up and his jaw dropped. “Holy shit, the skeleton from Glizzie’s Trap Door!”

“You’re so weird man.” Nick said, shaking his head. “Let’s find the party.”

A hallway of mirrors opened to a massive living room. The wood-paneled ceiling was strewn with miscellaneous chandeliers which seemed to all hold lit candles. Mysteriously long curtains, lined with golden tassels along their medial ends, fell down the sides of the several 20-ft. windows surrounding the dark colored walls. Framed photographs of an unknown family and paintings of old ancestors hung in between the windows, leaving no empty space. Doris Duke’s silk Isfahan carpet lined the wood floors that matched the ceiling. It was hard to tell with the amount of drunk people stuffed into the room, but it appeared that all the furniture was velvet. Beside each garnet sofa and violet armchair was an extravagant antique Tiffany lamp. Nick and Zack were surprised to see that none of them had yet fallen over.

“Smells like cigarettes.” The two stated simultaneously.

The room was wide. Like, Olympic-size swimming pool wide. Where one diving board ought to be, a man in a vest was serving cocktails at the Château’s bar located on the far-right side of the room. A raised stage stood erected at the opposite side with about 30 amplifiers tracing its edge, creating a wall instead of the other imaginary diving board. Pushing his way through all the partiers, Nick began to swim toward the stage. Zack instantly lost him, but made for the stage as well.

Not soon after, Nick was approached by a super intoxicated man. He grabbed Nick’s shoulder as he was walking by to capture his balance. His head was bobbing up and down like a buoy. On his fifth downward bobble, he burped, loudly, and came back up to talk to Nick.

“Hey…buddy…pal, you, uh, you from Nuyuerk? You look like a furrrrreaking Nuyuerk City business guy with that jacket, yeah, and those uhhhh nice slacks, your leatha shoes, and your uhhhh whatchamacallit uhhhh your burrrrrriefcase.” After his nonsensical comment, he let out another burp.

“No, sorry pal. My brother lives in New York. Not me.” Nick answered, and then whacked him in the head as hard as he could with the case of Coors. The man flew 10 feet backwards and landed on the Doris Duke’s. Nick slowly walked up to him whilst simultaneously removing his outer clothing. Beneath his “business guy” fit, he was wearing his blue gi.

“No, oh please NO, sir, please spare me!” The man cried and pleaded. It was of no use.

Nick gave his belt a firm tug, then dived onto the ground to hit the perpetrator with a side sacrifice throw to far butterfly hook guillotine, courtesy of Bruno “Bad Boy” Malfacine. The man fainted, and the spectating crowd cheered and applauded. He collected himself, and continued to the stage where he found Zack already standing there.

“Holy shit… That’s him?” Nick asked.

A chair was positioned in the center of the stage. It was the color of blue jeans, but had cylindrical wooden legs. It was quite short, and it really didn’t look comfortable at all. In fact, it was the type of chair that your roommates would never sit in, even if there was no other option. Sitting sideways inside the chair with his legs hanging off the side was a man with tan skin, big brown hair, and around-average male height. He was wearing a graphic t-shirt, Nike running shorts, and New Balance sneakers. He was fixated on the iPhone he was holding in his lap, which was connected to a 15-foot aux cord sprawled across the stage around him. 

Zack knew it was him, but he didn’t want to believe his eyes. “… DJ Glizzie?” He asked.

The man didn’t move.

Nick finished off the rest of the Coors he was nursing and threw the empty can at the man. It hit his shoulder.

“What the hell man?” Glizzie asked as he turned around to look at Nick and Zack. “I’m trying to DJ up here. You can’t be throwing shit.”

“You’re just lying in that chair queuing songs on Spotify.” Zack replied. “Shouldn’t you be doing a little more for your fans? It’s your 50th Playlist. You got a beautiful venue here. So many people came to see you perform.”

An annoyed Glizzie sat up in his chair.

“Perform? Perform for who? Oh. I get it. This is my apartment building. You guys must not be from South Tampa. All the buildings out here look like this. They’re all old as shit and basically haunted. I hung up the 50th Playlist banner at the entrance and sat up here playing my list, all for nothing. None of my friends showed up. All the people in this room? No clue why they’re here. If I had to guess, it looks like there’s a dude in a vest at the other side giving out free cocktails. You know who gives a shit about my playlists? Nobody. I’ve been making them for 50 weeks, and nobody listens to them.”

“We do! We love Glizzie playlists. We’re tapped in every week. Show him Zack.” Nick said as he pointed at Zack’s back.

Zack reached into his backpack and pulled something out. “Look.”

Zack held up his Glizzie’s Trap Door skeleton action figure. “I never leave home without it.”

Glizzie’s jaw dropped. His eyes filled with tears. He thought back to when he made Glizzie’s Trap Door. He was so proud of it, but, he was afraid nobody would understand the concept.

“Where did you get that?” Glizzie asked.

“I made it. Made it out of clay. Took me a while, but I had Trap Door on replay the whole time – which, I guess was kinda ironic, because it was like I kept falling through the trap door over and over again even though I knew it was there.” Zack joked.

Glizzie let out a laugh/cry combination. He couldn’t stop craughing. “You – you understood the concept? What’s your name?”

“Zack. And that’s my brother, Nick. But, wait, actually… we’re DJs too.”

“Zack what are you doing?” Nick yelled frantically.

“It’s ok. I think we should tell him.” Zack pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Glizzie. He instructed Nick to do the same. “My DJ name is WZRD the Czar, Nick’s is SleepyBear. We’ve been making playlists for just about as long as you have, Glizzie. Take a look at some of our lists. Feel free to queue some tracks.”

Glizzie was stunned. He looked at WZRD the Czar’s Spotify and knew he was telling the truth. He checked out the Czar’s most recent offering: My First and Only Amnestic Episode. It looked tasty. Scrolling down, he found Into the Ziggurat. Glizzie’s tongue fell out of his face and he started panting like a dog. Next, Weekend Washout. Wicked Weekend. Ladies Night. He scrolled so far down, the playlists stopped having quirky names; their titles were just the dates they were created. Glizzie found 8/22/2020. 54 weeks, and 4 days.

Glizzie moved onto SleepyBear’s Spotify. 5 O’Clock Somewhere, Sleep’s latest, looked too fucking cozy. He saw Get Behind Me!, Spero Dedes Fan Club, and Backyard Shooting Gallery. Great cover arts. Glizzie honked his own horn when he saw the Ford Fuckin Ranger tracklist. He howled like a hyena when he discovered the double playlist, Over&Out&On&Up. Last, he saw the modest, grilling, composed in late August 2020, just like 8/22/2020.

He couldn’t believe what was happening. Did fate bring these two to me? Glizzie asked himself.  He stood up from his chair and took a deep breath.

“All this time, I thought nobody listened to mine. Here you guys are, listening to them all, AND making your own weekly playlists.”

“Back when we were in college, we were roommates. We used to get drunk every Friday/Saturday night in the apartment and take turns queuing up new songs we discovered throughout the week. It was the best. After we graduated, I moved to a new state without Nick. For a good while, we had no fucking clue what each other was listening to. It was the worst. So, we both mutually agreed to make a weekly playlist. Similar enough to taking turns on the queue, but better in a way. They go deeper. When I listen to a SleepyBear playlist, I feel exactly how Nick was feeling the week he made it. It lets me imagine the things he saw that week, the things he did that week. Plus, I love his taste in music. We’ve been putting each other onto bands and artists for years. It brings us closer together. For as long as we have time to keep this thing going, we’re gonna keep it going. We don’t care who’s listening, we’re doing it for ourselves.”

Zack finished delivering their origin story, and Nick nodded in agreement.

Glizzie’s eyes grew wide. He was inspired. He had always wondered if someone else out there shared his hobby. Here were two of them - straight up fools, too - one super fucking tall, the other just a tad taller than him. Yet, he got the feeling that the shorter one insisted that he were the Luigi of the brothers. Which, of course made no sense, as he was the spitting image of Mario. Glizzie thought to himself…

“Could I be their Wario?”

He asked nervously:

“What if we… did this whole playlist thing together? I just want some friends to share music with.”

“We thought you’d never ask, Glizzie. We’d love to have you. But, we’re not gonna keep calling you Glizzie. That name is fucking ridiculous. What’s your real name?” Nick inquired.

“Oh, fuck you man. My name is Zac.” Glizzie answered.

“Zack? Spell it.” Zack replied.

He spelled it: “Z-A-C. Zac.”

Nick looked at his Zack. “No K. Just a C.”

“Yeah, I C that, but that’s not gonna work. You’re gonna say Zack and then both Zac(k)s will look over at you and try responding. What then?” Zack asked.

“That’s a good point.” Nick thought to himself, then let out a suggestion: “How about Zic?”

“Zick? Like the combination of Zack and Nick?” asked Zack.

“Yeah, but without the K. Z-I-C. Zic.” Nick stated proudly.

“That’s perfect. Alright Zic, you’re in.” Zack said, as he reached onto the stage to dap up Glizzie.

“Zic… that’s weird as fuck. Are there other options?” Glizzie asked, quite hopefully.

“No.” Zack and Nick replied in unison.  

“Fuck it. I’m Zic.”

“Anyways Zic, I did come all the way out here from NY. And, I am a huge fan of your work. Mind if I get a picture with you before we head out?” Zack asked, already climbing onto the stage.

“Sure brother.” Zic threw their phones down to Nick.

“Alright p*ssies, on 3. 1-2-3. Cheese.”

The three exchanged contact information and started a group chat devoted to their playlists. Before leaving the Château, they shared what was left of the Coors and took turns queuing up their favorite songs. Zic was so happy to meet Zack and Nick. It was the best night he’d had in 50 weeks.

-

Nick and Zack were three-fourths of the way back to Nick’s car when Zack stopped Nick.

“Yo Nick, lemme see that pic you snapped of me and Zic.”

Nick realized he hadn’t looked at it either. He pulled out his phone and they took a look together.

“No fucking way.” The two stated simultaneously.

I Met Glizzie and He Did the Bunny Ears Behind My Head in the Photo I Made Him Take With Me

⛺️