At a gathering at my apartment this past Saturday, I was talking with a few guys about music and such when The National’s “Mistaken for Strangers” came up in the music rotation, prompting a story about how, at a Boston show a couple of years back, lead singer Matt Berninger downed an entire bottle of wine during the performance before proceeding to smash the bottle. I’ve never had the privilege of seeing The National live, and though that anecdote strikes up an odd image, it’s not entirely surprising. The band seems to champion that segment of folks stuck in the middle and damned to stay there, people who’ve left behind their days of chugging Keystone Light with their college career but whose daily trivialities still provoke the onset of that maddeningly irresistible urge to treat oneself to a hangover, people whose attachment to their office chair, frustration with company politics, and overexposure to ambient fluorescent lighting have initiated the slow but accelerating descent down that slippery slope toward sociopathy. And even if you’re the type to appreciate the humor that being surrounded by morons affords and can take just about everything with a boulder of salt, you don’t have to look far to find a real-life analog for The National’s protagonists, like just over the cubicle wall at the Paxil-popper in the next desk. Yeah, their songs are for that poor motherfucker. And even if you’re still in high school or college, like many readers will certainly be, listen up, friends– you might not relate now, but this is what you bastards have to look forward to.