Karaoke. Plastic miniature ponies. Lemming wars. Edible outer-garment underwear. The roving red eye of Sauron. Snot explosions.
Power cleansing for the small of your back. Microwave soldiers. Lollipop star. Spin cycle kisses. Dolph Lundgren dance steps.
Apple-black eye. Pissing on the tribal yurt. Vanilla tears. Orang-utans exploited in Hollywood films to be cowboys. The greater
arts of hassle-free Xerox troubleshooting. Collecting smiles for your mantlepiece. Lost brothers. Tropical island zebra. Rock
band terrorists. Deep-sea submarine infiltration. Photosynthesis as comedic allegory for the black man's plight. Website charity.
Cosmo Kramer for President. The first sentient penis. Football without the ball, for amputees. Laughing Japanese gameshow
host. The humble and maturing lovelife of the smaller Arctic squid. Nazi murder.
These are the themes that you won't find in Salad Days.
Youth, angst, self-perpetuated insecurity, companionship, the modernist belief concerning the necessity for a relationship,
the alternating dialects of boys and girls, the salgamundi of pop. culture inanities, friendship, obscure and ornate French
bicycles, balloons without the parties, fucking like a pro, social torpidity, the existential presence of the Kalahari bushman
in this contemporary society, treehouses, the ironical analysis of Australian colloquialisms, shimmering Brisvegas, how to
please Wanda Q, growing through decline, the artifice of bad analogies, hating the world enough to love it like sugar raindrops,
the resurrection of the Beatles, never feeling better than on sloping ground...
These things are the grist for Salad Days' mill. There are four characters. Two of them are boys yearning for
love. Two of them are women pretending to be girls, fighting off intrinsic maturity. And it's not always clear who we need
to succeed here. Maybe it's just a poetical opportunity to enjoy the journey of dying successes.
Maybe it's growing. Maybe it's regressing. It's that time we forget, or the time we re-model into stories to capably
cope better with. It's everyone's glorious Salad Days. And it's fun. If it doesn't hit home.