3B
Wednesday, April 4, 2018 // The Statement 

Soundtracking: A Perfect Day 

T

he End — The Doors

“This is the end / My only 

friend, the end”

This has been quite the journey for 

my mom and me, who is probably the 
only person to keep reading this column. 
We’ve been through a lot — public 
embarrassment, self-deprecating humor, 
the whole nine yards. But seeing as 
the semester is almost over and I have 
wasted space in the Statement with 
these extended diatribes for a whole 
year, I’ve decided this will be the last 
Soundtracking column in the paper.

(The truth is I was actually forced to 

retire by Statement staff but I wanted it to 
seem like it was my decision). 

I thought I would end my Statement 

career on a high note, one more uplifting 
column as opposed to downtrodden and 
all about how I continuously make a 
fool of myself. Though that humor still 
appeals to me, I feel as though my final 
column should mean a little more. If you 
want more “Matt can’t do anything right” 
content, just follow me around for a day. 
It’s inevitable. But please tell me if you are 
following me because I expect you to be 
in full trench coat, sunglasses and wide 
brim hat, reading a newspaper with eye-
holes poked through.

When I was on an Alternative Spring 

Break trip in Harlan, Ky. this year, we spent 
a lot of time in a van. While the abstract 
idea of being forced into a University of 
Michigan van with five strangers, driving 
for hours on end for a whole week, doesn’t 
sound that appealing, it turned out to be 
an incredible experience. You get to know 
each other really quick. I believe the first 
story I told before we had even left Ann 
Arbor was the time I almost drove my 
grandma’s van through her garden when 
I was eight.

Adult Diversion — Alvvays
I stand by my belief that if you want 

to really get to know someone, ask 
them to describe their perfect day.

You don’t get the vague “I like music 

and hanging out with friends” responses. 
You get true passions. You understand 
what really makes them happy. And that 
is beautiful in its own right.

Driving away from the Cumberland 

Gap, my van mates got on the topic 
of describing a perfect day back 
home. While many of us were from 
Michigan, our days were completely 
different due to the surroundings we 
grew up in. I can’t describe everyone 
else’s days to the tee like they could, 
but I can give a quick outline of mine.

My perfect day would start with 

me waking up — a crucial start to any 
day, ever. I’d be in my twin bed in my 
childhood room in Royal Oak. I’d roll 
over to only be met by my bright red 
walls (which I picked out even though my 
mom thought it would look horrible) and 
the sunlight beaming through my pink 

and purple window curtains, bathing 
the room in lavender. Immediately I 
would text Charlotte, who I met in 
kindergarten and has never been able 
to get rid of me, her sister Becca and our 
friend Louie about breakfast. It would be 
probably about 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday 
as I’d hop in the shower, hang with my 
mom while she made coffee and start 
cleaning the house and throw on clothes 
before running out of the house to meet 
Charlotte, Becca and Louie.

Heading down Crooks Road with 

“Ann Delisi’s Essential Music” on WDET 
booming through my car’s radio, I’d pull 
into National Coney Island on Main 
Street — a Royal Oak tradition that still 
holds a special place in my heart. Finding 
the gang in the parking lot, we’d run in 
and grab a booth in the corner.

Starfish and Coffee — Prince
As we’d find our seat, I’d scan the room, 

looking for people I hadn’t seen in a few 
months. I’d inevitably see two or three. It 
was bound to happen at National.

I’d order my favorite breakfast National 

order: spinach, feta and tomato omelet 
with black coffee and crispy hash browns 
— the perfect start to my day. Laughing 
about the events in each of our lives since 
the last time we’d seen each other (which 
was probably a few days prior if I’m being 
honest), we’d shoot the shit and scarf 
down plates of breakfast food. I’d toss my 
Coney Bucks Rewards Card I always keep 
in my wallet down with my bill and make 
plans to see them all tomorrow.

Hopping in my car, I’d call my friend 

Michael to make sure he’s free and swing 
by to pick him up. We’d automatically 
know where we’d be adventuring to once 
I got on I-75 toward downtown.

From Eden — Hozier
The original John K. King Used & Rare 

Books location on Lafayette Boulevard 
in downtown Detroit is arguably the 
greatest place on Earth.

Fuck Disney World.
I used to say John King was four stories 

but then I realized that was an incredibly 
confusing way to describe a bookstore. 
Now I end up saying it’s four floors of 
endless hallways stacked to the ceiling 
with any book you can imagine. It’s the 
only place in the world where I’m grateful 
for the dust that causes my allergies to act 
up. You need a map to get around this 
place — and in fact, they do supply you 
with one. Otherwise, you might have to 
send up a flare to have the store rangers 
come rescue you.

With Michael scanning the radio but 

ultimately leaving it on WDET because 
nothing beats Ann Delisi, I’d pull into 
the tiny parking lot next to the bookstore 
behemoth. We’d spend hours there, 
grabbing titles off the shelf and reading a 
chapter or two on milk crates in the deep 
corners of the store. I always position 
myself next to the windows so the light, 

diffused by wax paper, illuminates the 
page and increases the contrast of the 
black typeface on the cream pages.

Finding each other every now and 

then, I’d ask what he’s been reading. 
With Michael, it’s most likely some 
ancient biology or engineering book or, 
occasionally, an extended philosophical 
novel. I would be huddled up next to the 
paperback Dramatists Play Service box, 
finding foldable copies of plays I’ve never 
heard of and reading the first scene to see 
how the playwright decided to break the 
stasis of their play — arguably the most 
important decision in a play.

With a few titles in our hands, we’d 

check out and drive to Hamtramck 
to crack into our new paperback 
adventures. I’d need a cup of coffee to 
pair with a new text.

Best One — NxWorries
We’d 
roam 
around 
Hamtramck, 

looking for street parking, until we’d 
inevitably find a spot and run inside 
Cafe 1923.

There are a few reasons why 1923 is 

included in my perfect day. First, the 
coffee is incredible, and its only a quarter 
for refills. Second, they always play Bob 
Dylan over the speakers. Finally, they 
have a back room with large windows 
letting sunlight in, comfy chairs, chess 
tables and bookshelves surrounding the 
entire space. That way, if we want a break 
from our new books, we can scour the 
shelves around us until we find another 
book that piques our interest. It’s also 
an amazing writing space. I’d bring my 
raggedy notebook and a pen to work on 
any various writing I choose. The world 
is my oyster at Cafe 1923.

After two hours of reading and writing 

and sipping coffee, we’d head toward 
Redford for a night at my second favorite 
place on Earth — Redford Theater.

The theater, which has a Japanese 

motif, was covered up during World War 
II but was eventually restored. Now, 
they screen older flicks. I’ve been going 
there since I was eight. It’s where I saw 

my favorite movie, “It’s a Wonderful 
Life,” for the first time.

Honestly, I wouldn’t care what movie 

was playing that night. I’d just want to see 
the theater again. After buying our tickets 
and walking around, marveling at the giant 
screen and the ceiling which twinkles like 
stars, we’d take our seats and wait for the 
original Barton Theater organ to rise out 
of the pit and begin the 30-minute concert 
before the movie.

Wait for the Moment — Vulfpeck
By the time the movie is over, it would 

most likely be about 10:30 p.m. I’d drive 
Michael back to Royal Oak and drive 
around in the dark for a while, listening 
to music and letting the activities of the 
day soak in.

Pulling into a parking lot because texting 

while driving is bad, I’d text my friends 
from high school who went to the local 
Catholic school. It’s a long, convoluted 
story as to how a public-schooled half-
Jew came to be such good friends with 
kids raised in the Catholic school system, 
but I’m always grateful for their presence. 
Even at 11:00 at night, a lot of them would 
still be up and game for anything. But we 
all know where we’d end up — National 
Coney Island is open 24 hours.

Back To Back — Drake
We’d all meet in the parking lot just 

like I did with Charlotte, Becca and Louie 
earlier that morning and we’d cross our 
fingers, hoping the big corner booth is 
open. In my perfect day, it would already 
have our names on it.

There, I’d order a Diet Coke and laugh 

the entire night, quoting Vines and just 
swapping stories since the last time we’d 
all been together. We’d leave at 2:00 a.m. 
and I’d finally head home. Collapsing in 
bed, I’d take a deep breath and hope to 
remember that feeling of excitement and 
bliss forever. I know it would be gone in 
the morning but all I can do is dream. As 
my eyelids drift closed, I’d get ready to 
make the next day the best it can be. 
Because that’s all I can ask for.

Perfect Day — Lou Reed

BY MATT HARMON, SENIOR NEWS EDITOR

ILLUSTRATION BY BETSY STUBBS

