Well. God damn.

What a strange few days. I’m not goning to do any eulogizing (except: ilovemichaeljacksonandhewasthereasonifirstbeganlikeingmusicandwherewouldmusicandtheworldbewithouthim andhewasagniusandhegavealotofpeoplehappinesseventhoughheallegedlymadesomepeopleverysad. Ok, done. sorry), but I will say that when I was a little kid I had a red leather jacket with a bunch of zippers on it, and I wanted to be Michael Jackson. AND THAT WASN’T WEIRD AT THE TIME. Ahem.

And Farrah? She really died of anal cancer? Geez. Sorry Farrah.

And Ed McMahon, and Sky Saxon… And Lindsay leaving Videogum? SERIOUSLY GNAR WEEK, BRAHS.

At least we still have Beck though. He’s a little nuts, but listening to his Velvet Underground covers cheered me up.
I mean, how great would it be to roll down to Ocean Way (or Cello, or EastWest, or whatever the hell it is called now), grab some friends, have a hot blonde girl play sitar (I mean… I would teach Dawn to play sitar, duh), and record an entire album of great covers over a couple of days- just for fun?  Live the dream, Beck Hansen, Live The Dream.

And finally, Explosions In The Sky tomorrow- time to get our cinematic-hipster-emo on.



Filed under Deal With It, I call them 'records' and not 'cds' because I'm an elitist, I Mourn, Lameness

4 responses to “Well. God damn.

  1. Anal cancer? Wow. The silent (but stinky!) killer.

    • theunimpressive

      I’m gonna count that as a Zing for anal cancer and not its victims, you monster.
      Just kidding (about the monster part).

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