Arian Murati STAFF WRITER
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Lovely readers, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I smoke rocks. Nah, not anymore, but seriously, I'm very good with accents. Some would say that I am too good at pretending to be from somewhere else. My natural accent (which I've sadly lost) is an eastern European accent (Albanian) that I grew up with, which always comes in handy for Borat impressions, but since those aren't relevant anymore, I've stopped using it in favor of a French accent. I've been to France a few times, lived with a friend there on an exchange trip, and speak it semi-fluently (I can order food and get a cab!). Here is the story of how I, along with Stelios, Jason, and Dave managed to fool an entire city. Enjoy.

About two years ago, I got a phone call from Stelios, who asked me to fill in on drums for a show. It was a battle of the bands in Wayne, NJ, with a five hundred dollar first prize. I agreed to play, and we got to practicing. We had four songs ready to go. During one of our frequent "let's just chill for five minutes" sessions, we started discussing the show.

"Dude, it's just gonna be sceenie weenie kids, we should think of something funny to do" said Stelios.

"Hey Arian, can't you do accents?" asked Jason.

"Hells yeah I can!" I replied, and French Kid was born.

We thought of a clever back story. I was Stel's exchange student, and was living with him for two weeks. It…was….bulletproof.

On the day of the show, we loaded up our gear and headed into Wayne. When we arrived at the venue, we were greeted by some of Dave's friends, who were absolutely flabbergasted that I was French. "Holy shit dude, I've never met a French dude before dude!" I set up my drums onstage, and word started going around that Concise had a French wunderkind drummer.

We hung around for a while, and about ten minutes before we took the stage, the place was packed. French kid was causing quite a stir. We walk out and Dave introduced the band. "…and here's our French drummer Arian!" I've never been greeted with such applause. I felt like a Beatle. We played our set, then sat and waited for the winners to be announced. As soon as I tried to sit down, I was rushed by a crowd of girls asking for hugs, kisses, and picture. It was probably the greatest thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever.

We ended up winning. That's right, first place bitches. We walked up to the stage to take pictures, and one of the other bands told me to come to center stage. Their bassist lifted me up above everyone else, and the entire stage crew started pointing at me, as if I were a Greek God. They took that picture for the newspaper, and the crowd was on its feet. I was (and continue to be) the shit. Stelios and I had pictures from the event, but somehow neither of us have them anymore. Seriously, just take our words for it. It was legit.

How could this have gotten any better you ask? A fine young woman (who shall remain nameless, you'll find out later) was asking Dave to meet me. Dave, being the suave gentlemen that he is, yelled "Yo Arian, this chick wants you!", and I went over to her. Keep in mind, I've been holding up this French accent the entire night, and I was in a dilemma. Do I break character and ask her on a date, or do I stay in character and never see her again? Like a true professional, I stayed in character…for about ten minutes. On our way out, Dave revealed to her that I was in fact American and not leaving in two weeks. I got her digitzzz and called her the next morning.

We went on a lunch date the next day. Jesus tap dancing Christ, she was dull. We were at a café, and all she did was ramble on and on about how she was amazed that I didn't break character, and text. Oh, did she text. She even answered the phone while we were talking! It just went more and more downhill from there. I asked her what kind of bands she listened to, to which she replied, " Oh lots of stuff, Arctic Monkeys, The Muse..,". THE MUSE?! I SHOULD DESTROY YOU. Muse is one of my favorite bands, and I look down upon any butchering of their name or likeness. It's kind of like when those Danish newspapers drew a picture of Mohammed. Don't call Muse The Muse, or I will burn cars and riot all over your small Socialist country.

After that debacle, I never called her again. About a week ago, I was in my friend's dorm, and I told her this story. She told me to look her up on facebook, which I didn't want to, but they insisted (thanks Paulina and Kiely). Sure enough, I looked under her favorite music: The Muse.

There is no lesson to this story. There is no moral. This was just something that most people who were there found hard to believe. It was surreal, in the funniest way possible. I'm playing there again this November, almost two years to the day French Kid swept Wayne.

If you can't stand the heat, get out of the House Lights