Today I attempted to introduce my brother Jeff to The Velvet Underground. He came into my room for some damn reason, and I said, "Hey, Jeff, wanna listen to a song?" He agreed. He must have forgotten who he was up against (people frequenlty forget, and actually agree to my propositions; like, "Hey, wanna walk to 7-11?").

First I played "Tom Courtenay." He sat looking kind of expectant, then like he was being watched and trying to escape his pursuer. He got jittery, pet Mulder for a while, and sat back again. Then he attempted to leave. All this before the song was half-way through. So I had to forcibly restrain him, by holding tightly to his shirt cuff. By 2:20, he was attempting to unbutton his shirt whilst my face was turned, so I grabbed his arm and made sure he heard every last ecstasy-inspiring note.

When the song ended, I said, "So, do you wanna hear some Velvet Underground now?"

He shifted his eyes left and right and said, "Um, no-oo . . ."

"But they're really go-ood . . . Do you know who was in The Velvet Underground?" He shook his head. "Lou Reed. You like Lou Reed, don't you."

He tried to creep away, so I grabbed his shirt again, then asked him to shift over so I could reach my CD player. He obliged and I put on "What Goes On." He didn't seem to be getting it, so I said, "How 'bout that organ?"

. . . .

"I said HOW 'BOUT THAT FUCKING ORGAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GODDAM, LISTEN TO THAT GUITAR!!! HOLY LIVING MOTHER OF FUCK, THAT GODDAM GUITAR!!!!!!!" He escaped at this point. He may never understand The Velvets now.

My parents asked him what all the screaming was, and he simply said, "Greg's finally gone insane." Really it was just that goddam organ. Fuck.