Jimmy Kimmel Shows Us How Much (Little) We Know

They're big fans of Dr. Shlomo and the G.I. Clinic.

They’re big fans of Dr. Shlomo and the G.I. Clinic.

 

Somewhere inside of us, we know who we really are.

We just don’t want anyone else to know.

It’s never really worked out for us, has it?

The minute others see that we don’t know as much as we seem, aren’t quite as clever as we portray, they drift away, shaking their heads at a mixture of their own naivete and superiority.

It’s hard for us to admit that we don’t know things. It’s just too painful to be exposed.

When you lose face, you lose everything. Respect, admiration, your mind.

How thoughtful, then, of Jimmy Kimmel to send his crew out to the wilderness of the Coachella Music Festival to interview those who are really up with everything that’s going on in music.

If you don’t know Dr. Shlomo and the G.I. Clinic, you’re not just nobody. You might never be somebody. Ever.

The only slight hope is that Dr. Shlomo is as non-existent as his Clinic.

This footage, which Kimmel insists is utterly un-Doctor Shlomoed, shows people saying they know what they don’t, simply to be be cool.

No, to appear cool.

This is who we are. We are people who nod along with our intimate acquaintance of Shortie Jizzle and the Plumbercracks.

Even when told that they are a combination of Bob Dylan and a polka band — a combination that even the residents of Hell couldn’t contemplate — we nod along.

Of course there’s a band called The Obesity Epidemic. There has to be. And even if there isn’t, we can still admire their “whole style”. We can say “they’re kind of, like, very innovative and they’re new.”

We haven’t heard of them, you see, so they have to be new. And there’s always something cool about being new.

We haven’t heard of Two-Door Cinema Club only because they don’t exist. That doesn’t mean we can’t look forward to them playing at some future time when they do exist.

That’s going to be something special, isn’t it?

Yes, it’s hard to listen to a supposed radio presenter claiming that he used to spin Two-Door Cinema Club’s “DJ Cornmeal,” when we know that it doesn’t exist because Two-Door Cinema has neither doors, walls not a projector.

It isn’t even a tribute band to two members of The Doors.

We are a desperate race because we’re in a desperate race. Every day, we have to find some sort of edge, some sort of evidence that we are more.

Or, at least, more of what other people are looking for.

So if someone tells us there’s a band that’s called “Get The Fuck Out Of My Pool,” we are already in the know.

Especially if the questioner is holding a microphone.

“I don’t know” is one of the most vilified phrases in the language.

It only offers a certain power when it’s used as code for “No, I don’t love you any more.”

Some bluffers do manage to get through the whole of their lives without too many people seeing through their imperial clothing.

Perhaps, though, it’s best to try not bluffing once in a while.

Would it really hurt to look at someone — even someone with a microphone — and admit: “No, I don’t know who Dr. Shlomo and the G.I. Clinic are. Are they any good?”

How very moving it would be if we all wandered around admitting that we’re even more human than we appear?

Oh, what am I talking about? I just know that wouldn’t work at all.

 

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