In June I turned fifteen. The only thing I wanted for my birthday was “Ask The Unicorn”. I already had an Ed Askew T-Shirt, the one with Ed playing that crazy instrument of his, laughing, with the mushroom cloud behind him. But I didn’t have the album. My mom bought it for me, even though she was a little tripped out by the cover. Finally! I thought I’d be the last kid at school to get it. I really didn’t want to suffer the humiliation of being called a poser because I had the shirt but not the record.
Well does my mom regret that present. Ed Askew infuriates her. She hates him. When I get home from school, I walk in, pass her without saying hello, go right up to my room, slam the door, and crank “Ask The Unicorn” at full volume. I don’t even get to “Marigolds” before she is banging on the door yelling at me to turn it down. “What is this crap!!!” she says. “It’s music that was made the year you were born mom!” It doesn’t matter to her. It’s nonsense to her ears. Just noise.
But Friday night, when I head down to Seaside Heights, It’s blasting from almost every car on the strip! Ed speaks to my generation man and I don’t care what any parent or teacher thinks. They hate it because Ed reminds them that they blew it. They had a chance to drop out and grow beards and live on farms and forget the city but they couldn’t give it up. All the kids at my school are with it. They are all ready and can’t wait to give it up, just dying to drop out. We are reading survival manuals, and books on how to farm, and weave baskets and do macramé. When we graduate we aren’t going to collage. We are heading up to the hills and down to the valley, to the river, and we’re saying fuck our parents and fuck society. We’re not afraid to ask the unicorn! With middle finger in air screaming “Fancy That!’
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