The first time I heard “Slow Motion” by Third Eye Blind I was at my best friend’s apartment and we were contemplating the relationship value of television. Jimmy was a cold-hearted stoner and desired nothing more than to prove that society had forced us into a little box. He believed that the box we were being forced into consisted of 525 colorful scan lines that are now represented with 720 by 480 pixels in current digital formats. Jimmy refused to own a television or a computer. They were tools of Satan, if there was such a being.

Come to think of it, Jimmy would be pissed at me writing this. Ever since South Park came out with the Jimmy, the “special child” he has insisted on being called Jim. He figured he was more dignified than to share that name with a retard. Jim was pretty dense, not thinking there were other retards named Jim. But we could only razz him to a certain point. If he got too pissed, he would stop sharing his bud. None of us wanted to pay for our own weed, so we had to patronize Jim every once and a while.

His issue with television was the trance in which you must enter in order to accept the world that is shown in television. Hell, even these new-fangled reality shows showed a reality that was beyond anything we really knew. What made no sense was Jim’s constant attention to altering his own world.

The affects of marijuana had no play in his concept of reality versus the make-believe. When confronted with the possibility of brain cell loss due to his indulgence in the cannabis plant, he compared it to the thinning of a herd. Just as Darwin had explained the survival of the fittest, Jim believed that he was only killing the slow brain cells and was therefore making his brain work faster and better every time he took a hit from “The Matrix.” The Matrix was a three-level bong where each level had the smoke come in above the water to below in order to reach the next chamber. This provided quite an exercise for the lungs.

Jim’s apartment living room consisted of four multi-colored couches surrounding a table covered with three distinctly different bongs for each experience level of smoker, an assortment of anywhere from three to ten different pipes and many papers for rolling the fattest blunt possible. There was a large stereo system from the 80’s with three-foot-tall speakers on either side that was crammed between the orange couch and the flowery one. I honestly don’t remember the apartment having more than just a living room. I am sure there was, but by the time I explored more of his apartment I was too far from reality to retain anything I may have learned about the rest of his apartment.

It was Christmas of 1999 that Jim received a copied tape of Blue by Third Eye Blind. December 26th the four of us were sitting casually around the smokeout table. Each was on a different couch. Since Adam was a little queer we always forced him to sit in the couch with the flowers on it. Jim was explaining how we would not be able to have great conversations like right now if he had a TV.

“See, you little bitches, the stereo is all we need. It is ambient and conducive to conversation,” is all he could say.

“But the TV would show us how to make fudge out of Vel-fucking-veeta,” replied Drew.

“You can make fudge out of Velveeta? You know that shit is clear before they color it? It’s not even fucking cheese…. See how fucked up TV is? That’s just not fucking right,” was Jim’s reply.

“You can think of the TV like a campfire! It may encompass most of your attention, especially when roasting marshmallows, but the campfire is just an excuse to sit around and chat up things with people you love,” said Adam.

All I could think to say was, “See, you are fucking gay.”

The room fell silent as there was a sudden, soft, melodic keyboard sound coming from the speakers. We all began to sway from the center of our clashing couches. The song with no words represented everything in our lives. From when Adam was beat so much that he couldn’t walk by his alcoholic father, to my first kiss with Sandy, the song represented everything. The sad times, the good times, and everything was encompassed by the interconnection of guitar and keyboard. Of course Adam was the first to cry. But I didn’t call him a queer. I knew he wasn’t. I asked him in the 7th grade, and I believed him when he said he wasn’t. After all, I was the second one to start crying as I was staring at the bright orange bong in the center of the table. Why did Sandy have to move? I loved her, and her dad just had to get her away from me. She meant the world. But sometimes it is better to lose a love, than to have a love lose you.

But my tears quickly died away as the soft snare lead a mumbling, high-pitched voice for the last minute of the song. The tranquility was over. The feelings were still there, but the soft flow was gone. As I struggled to place my feelings in the proper hiding spot, Jim yelled, “See, the world is going to fucking end in 5 days.”

We heard the screech of the end of the tape as we all yelled, “You psycho,” while wiping the much struggled-over tears from our rosy red faces.