CHAPTER 1
1. Plumber's Craic.
"Tell me what's wrong with youth these days," inquired Raymond McMahon. He was an erect Komodo dragon wearing a green flannel button-up and enough Old Spice to singe every hair in your nose.
"Tell me why they're in such a damn hurry."
As Raymond spoke, the daytime bartender at Mrs. O'Leary's Cow and moonlighting drummer of the freshly signed The Farrow Moans, 24-year-old Tommy Shannahan looked at the grizzled man before him. As Raymond sipped his Guinness — sucking the promise out of the sunny, quiet Sunday that Tommy hoped for — Tommy pondered:
• Why is this man so angry? He has an extra manic twinkle in his eye today.
• Why does he always have to be the first person here when I open?
• How amazing would it be to be sleeping right now?
• Carmen Swisher's legs.
• Did I forget the snare at the gig? I think I put it in the van next to the hi-hat.
• Carmen Swisher's denim skirt and panty shot she gave while accidentally*1 rocking back on the bar stool and laughing at Cal's terrible joke. Was she humoring him? Does she really like corny-ass puns?
• The lack of youthful and cool people that come into The Cow during the day.
• Maybe we should change our set list. Maybe we should lead off with "Shattered Halo." Mental note: Run that past Cal.
• I can drum as good as Patrick Carney*2. Right?
• Carmen Swisher's silver, silky thong. Why do the hot chicks gravitate toward the lead singers? "Oooh, I'm so ironic. I'm a lead singer. Check me out. Run your fingers through my gorgeous, sun-blessed hair." I bet Cal banged Carmen Swisher last night.
• Why is this dickhead staring at me? Didn't he ask a rhetorical question? I'm gonna need an energy drink to get through this — two of them actually.
• He's going to wait all day for an answer isn't he?
"Do you think it's because of all this technology?" Raymond interjected in his thick, Chicago accent before Tommy had a chance to answer. "Has the brain adapted and evolved to understand all this computer mumbo-jumbo and how to satisfy itself with instant information and gratification, but in doing so — in the process of that — did it dumb-down and deteriorate other aspects? Things like common sense? Things like logic? Things like courtesy?"
Before Tommy could answer, Raymond continued, "Are they so overcaffeinated — I mean, c'mon, there's a coffee shop at every corner — it's unbelievable! Breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert — it doesn't matter, they're drinking it all damn day. I remember when you'd have a cup or two to get things going in the morning and that was about it. Go to any Starbucks, at any time of the day, and you'll find dozens of teens in there sipping away. Shit, I didn't start drinking coffee until I was 25 years old."
Raymond, pressing the brim of the glass to his lips, gathered his thoughts with a 1,000-mile stare. He lowered the beer without taking a sip and then carried on.
"Or, now hear me out for a second," he said. "Are they are too overhydrated? Think about it now. Doesn't it seem like everyone's got a fucking bottle of water sewed into their faces — that is to say, when they're not drinking coffee? So, maybe they're so overhydrated, their brains turn into putty. Is that what's going on? Bunch of 10-pound waterheads roaming the streets? What the fuck did people do in the `20s, for fuck's sake? I don't see historic film of people carrying around rusty tin cans and guzzling down water every time they walked up a flight of stairs. Christ Almighty. Maybe all the water they're drinking is battling it out with all the caffeine they're drinking? An entire generation of mush brains, walking around and banging into each other like Boxelder bugs in the fading autumn. Maybe it's a combo of both, you know?
"Or, here's another idea ... is it something they're putting in the water that's watering down brainwaves? I don't want to sound like a conspiracy theorist*3, but it's starting to make me wonder. No one drinks the fluoride-loaded tapwater from yesteryear anymore. Why do they put fluoride in our tap water anyway? Do you know how terrible that stuff is for your insides? Maybe the FDA — those trustworthy souls — maybe they're in cahoots with some of the bottled water companies and putting only God-knows-what in it. You ever think about that? How do you know where your water comes from? Do you visit the company when it is being bottled? The label says it's from the Fiji Islands — you could say — but how do you know?"
Tommy grabbed a handful of his curly, chestnut hair and gave it a squeeze as if he was about to turn it into a ponytail or stuff it underneath the baseball cap he was wearing. He considered the old man's lament and felt Raymond made some valid arguments, but he wasn't about to humor him.
"OK, how about this one," Raymond said, "Are they so oversexed — check that, probably more like overmasturbated — that it screws with their logic? I mean, they can watch a porno anytime they want. Get it delivered right to the palm of their non-jerking hand in less than a minute, the way these phones with those Internets work. Do they walk around not giving a shit because they're only a few moments of privacy away from releasing a huge dopamine dump? Do they stay home all day, cranking away on their self, and then, when they actually wander into civilization, do they not know how to handle the reality? Don't even get me started on chivalry. It's an endangered species. Men these days wouldn't know the first thing about courting a lady. Maybe they don't feel they need to, because it's easier to rub one out as opposed to having to work for the real thing."
Tommy pulled his phone from his pocket and took satisfaction in knowing he wasn't going to have to put too much effort into the conversation. Raymond was going to continue with or without any interjections, per usual, and all he would have to do was nod or utter "yep" every so often. He started typing Cal a text message.
"Let's say, for whatever reason, God time-traveled you from 1901 to the present," Raymond said. "Or maybe a bottle washed ashore and you rubbed that son of a bitch and a genie popped out, granting you a wish. And your wish in 1901 was to visit right now. And once you get here, the first person you meet is some asshole. And this asshole tells you that in his pocket, he holds a device where, with a couple (pretending to dial a phone number) beep-beep-beep button pushes, he could call any country in the world and talk to another human with hardly a second of delay. And then, with a couple more button pushes, he could answer virtually...
