It's been on, rattling through the variation on "Loose" barely registering as I ate lunch. Maybe I am loose now too, like a paint mixture that's been shaken in a jar long enough that it bears little resemblance to the unlikely combination of colors that begat it. It is now just the resulting hue, nothing else.
The Stooges knew their way around a groove, though. Besides hardware store paint shakers, I can hear the shicka-shicka of Tracey Quackenbush's hula hoop when I was ten, the quick peel-out and then constant rumble of driving down a country gravel road on my uncle's farm, numerous dirt bike incidents, martini shakers, moving files from one directory to another, traffic undulating, kids running on a playground, Tilt-o-Whirl, the mechanical shimmy of life, etc etc shicka shicka