The First Time Someone Recognized My Magma T-Shirt

Before I start this post, I feel compelled to mention that this might be the most meaningful occurrence yet shoehorned under the banner of "Pointless Milestones."

On September 16, 2009, someone recognized my Magma T-shirt. I have waited 7 long years for this to happen.

Here's what you need to know about Magma:
1. They're French.
2. Their heyday was the 1970s.
3. They sang in their own invented language, Kobaian. This usually involves chanting things over and over again, like "Wï wï Ëss Ëss wï wï üss üss."
4. They sang about their own invented sci-fi/fantasy mythology, which involved a bunch of Earthlings settling the planet of Kobaia, creating a utopian society, then reestablishing contact with Earth and telling them how they should do things Kobaia-style, and the people of Earth taking great offense at this suggestion, inevitably leading to all sorts of heated discussions and wars. That covers the "Theusz Hamtaahk" ("Time of Hate") trilogy, anyway. There's also some archaeologist who digs up this Pharaoh and learns about his superpowers, I think. I'm sure it all makes sense if you speak Kobaian.
5. Their music is a mix of jazz, rock, opera, and a bit of funk here and there.
6. I won't bother embedding any Youtube videos of them, as they would probably only serve to frighten you. But they're there if your curiosity proves too difficult to resist.
7. They are my favorite obscure band of all time.

To the best of my recollection, I discovered them via a web site called Audiogalaxy, in the spring of 2002. I was sufficiently enamored with them that within a matter of months, I ordered one of their albums and a t-shirt bearing their logo, direct from the artist's online store. And since the day my order arrived, I have waited for a glimmer of recognition to sparkle across the visage of a complete stranger when confronted with the Magma logo.

And that day came last September. I was returning from the post office, crossing the intersection of Toland Way and El Paso Drive, when I happened to notice that I was being noticed by a man on a motorcycle.

Here is a poorly-conceived and frighteningly-illustrated depiction of our chance meeting:

Figure A is an eerily accurate representation of the author and wearer of the Magma t-shirt. Figure B is the best picture of a guy on a motorcycle from behind that I could find.

My memory of our encounter is not perfect. But I believe that he first stated "Oh... Magma." and started to point at my shirt, but had to grab his handlebar to steady himself. It is also possible he raised his fist in the air in a show of solidarity. What he said next was inaudible, except for a more forceful "Magma!" that conluded his communiqué.

I turned around as he passed me, pointing to the logo, and asking "Yeah... you like that?" It was hardly the most articulate exchange, but what we shared in that moment was beyond what mere words could express anyway. Next time, though, I'm going to have to be certain to shout "Hortz fur dehn Štëkëhn Wešt!
Hortz zï wëhr dünt Da Ëhrtz!"