I had an endoscopy today, which is a fun little procedure wherein a GI specialist jams a robot camera down your throat, into your stomach, and, if you’re lucky like I was, way down into the nethers of your small intestine. That’s not the interesting part, though. When I was lying on the table with an IV jabbed in my arm poised to send me into a stupor, the doctor asked me what song I’d like to hear for the procedure. I just sort of mumbled incoherently, not knowing how to answer and acting as though I didn’t quite understand him. I was envisioning Nip/Tuck-style shenanigans, which made me feel none too secure. And so he just repeated the question. I continued to stammer, trying to figure out if I were supposed to take him literally. Finally, he ended my sustained awkwardness by suggesting The National. I said, “uhh, yeah that’d be great.” Then, the doctor told me about how he just saw them open for The Arcade Fire. I was positive the drukqs had kicked in prematurely and that I was just dreaming this. But when I came to, I saw his iPod in a dock with the artwork for Alligator.