To be countrified means to be made of stone and earth.
My life in Brooklyn was a constant struggle to avoid being countrified, but in a world so hard and gray that was pretty much impossible. Maybe, when it is your time to die, you should just do it peacefully.
But instead, I chose to rage against the dying of the light. Whenever I had a dollar, I headed straight to the neighborhood discount party supply store, where I would spend as much time as I could gazing (inconspicuously, I hoped) at the plastic party decorations in every color of the rainbow. In the end, I would usually settle on a plastic tablecloth in a color I had never bought before, which I would then take home and nail to my wall. Why? Because I was convinced there was one color out there who could magically change my life for the better. And once I found this color and nailed him to my wall- BAM! the world would transform in an instant.
When I had several dollars to spend, I went to a discount greeting card shop, where, once again, I would nonchalantly loiter for as long as possible, before buying as many cards as I could afford and taking them home to stuff with glitter and feathers. I mailed these cards to everyone I knew- no matter how distantly- and learned there is no better way to alienate an acquaintance than a string of “I’m Glad We’re Friends!” cards with cute baby ducks on the front.
Download MP3: Countrified
