“I like all kinds of music,” he said, “but not like when you ask a little kid what kind of music they like and they say everything. I mean, it’s something I really think about. I’ve studied sound design at three different universities and been kicked out of all of them.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I like to drink. And I don’t like authority. And sometimes I sell pills.”

I was impressed when he was able to predict exactly when a beat-long silence in a song would occur, and use this beat to yell, “Not impressed!”

He told me that though he liked everything, he had a certain preference for rap, so I told him that recently I had been really into Wu-Tang. This obviously pleased him.

“You know how they do a Behind The Music about Britney Spears or Madonna or whatever. There’s a reason there’s never been one about Wu-Tang. It’s because they’re on hallucinogens all the time. Every one of their albums was recorded while on mushrooms or acid.”

“I wondered how they thought of some of that stuff,” I said.

“Yeah. They did some crazy shit. They were making a video one time, and every night during the production of the video, Ghostface bought a bucket of chicken and buried it in the director’s yard.”

“Why?”

“For luck, I guess. I don’t know, he was fucked up on mushrooms. But anyway, at the end of the week, the director saw his cat scratching around in the yard–which, you know, is really unusual for a cat–and he found them, all the buckets of chicken.”

The Pharmacy came on, who didn’t impress him either, and then I went upstairs, where a woman from San Francisco asked me where all the lesbians are around here.

“I’m only visiting,” I said.