A few months ago, I was in my office, working into the evening, experiencing what K. Marx called estranged labor. I decided to step outside for a moment and lean on the front of our building, watching the erotic parade of Valencia St. on a Thursday night etc. Almost immediately a sideways-moving camera crew rolled down the bike lane and a band walked by playing a song. Still feeling alienated, I shot psychic venom at them, pretending I was an old Armenian man standing in front of my bodega, sneering at the hipsters to whom I sell my Odwalla and unsalted cashews. Then almost immediately I received a text message from Molly saying “I was just in a Walkmen video”! And then I realized I just was, too.
And lo, six months or so later, IT’S TRUE! (around the 2:13 mark)