Cheered by Puppets of They Might Be Giants… at Terminal 5

The way out of Shalel Lounge encourages light eating and keen eyesight.

Part I: The FUNK: “I feel like there is an evil gnome in black fake leather and he’s in my chest, making everything difficult,” Lala said to Laszlo, who had just bought her dinner at a subterranean restaurant called Shalel Lounge.

“Well, it is possible that such things as gnomes live down here. Let’s get another martini.” He signaled the waitress and looked around at the moist rock walls and burbling stream next to them.

“Also, we need a crepe pan. For crepes. Where’s my phone?” Lala started rummaging through her bag. “I love this place, don’t you? Where’s my phone? I hate everyone.”

Laszlo: “I’m writing all of that down so you know what you sound like.”

"Alcohol as art," says Laszlo. "And prozac," says Lala.

When authorities arrived at the scene (a woman had been brutally held underwater in the restaurant's indoor pond) they found her boyfriend, soaking wet and raving that her last words had been: "This place has too many roses."

Part II – The MUSIC

Setting: Terminal 5 to watch “They Might Be Giants.”

Lala had fond memories of them. “All the smart kids in middle school listened to them,” she explained.

“Did you listen to them?” asked Laszlo.

“I did not,” she said and sniffed.

Fun fact: All concerts should have backdrops with dogs in them.

They Might Be Giants: They are smart. They use puppets. (Always a winning strategy, in Laz’s opinion). They play a variety of instruments and are unfathomably eclectic: Sometimes they sound like REM does Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

In case the dogs get hungry, bands should also include bones in their concert backdrops.

The song “Triangle Man” had the audience tipping backward and forward in  polite standing-room-only camaraderie. Lala was holding out her serious footwork for “Istanbul (not Constantinople)” but they didn’t play it.

“We are now going to be conducting 4 to 40 minutes of negativity,” said co-founder John Flansburgh. He and partner-in-chime John Linnell then asked the crowd to divide down the middle. Everyone on the left side of a flashlight beam directed down the center of the huge concert space was to yell “People! People! People!” Everyone on the right was to yell  “Apes! Apes! Apes!”

Everyone obeyed. At the end he declared that the “people” had won, and that the “apes” must now re assimilate with the “people.”

Pictured: An ape, or a monkey. Or something. "I've had better leaves," he's thinking. The fingers are Lala's.

  • A bizarre, deep-throated instrument was described thus: “The base clarinet, known by many, feared by all…The national geographic society lists it as rock’s most endangered instruments.”
  • A new album was described thus: “Our new album is great. It has two sides… “
  • And finally, Lala’s bad mood was obliterated utterly, and the evening saved for our daring duo of lovers, when one of the band members passed on this bit of wisdom: “My wife calls the unfolded but clean laundry in the middle of the floor “Floordrobe.””

“See?” said Lala. “I’m not so messy. I am alternately organized. And, I’m in a much better mood now.”

Laszlo said nothing. Yet as Lala walked away he whispered under his breath: “That’s why you’re an ape, and I’m a people.”


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