PrettyFakes

i’m lying. i didn’t do it for love—or money. i did it because of art.

on tuesday, january 8th, 2002, i was on christmas break, lazing around my dad’s house. i decided i was going to watch several hours of mtv—to ascertain if the idol of my youth was as hollow as a sixty-cent chocolate bunny. and oh yeah, oh yeah, it really is.

it’s amazing to me how dated this list of songs and artists is—mtv really does move fast. or slow. or something. so on this dreary may day, let your mind slide back to a gentler time, before iraq, before bill bennett gambling shockers, before mississippi republican gubernatorial candidates were talking about kids in whorehouses . . . back to good ol’ 2002.
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a little over a week ago, pamie—a/k/a pamela ribon, the hi-larious author of why girls are weird and many television without pity recaps (i used to read the ones about o-town over and over, until i couldn’t see for tears), heard that the oakland public libraries were running out of the long green: samoleans, clams, bones, jim-jam. um, cash.
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when i am the world trade center came to jackson in the middle of last year, i was ready for it.

we don’t get a lot of dance bands here—the awesome vhs or beta being the synth-exception—and we don’t get a lot of people like dan & amy.
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but only just barely, me lying in my old double bed stolen nearly seven years ago from roy when he left for london. i fall asleep easy but got to stare a bit last night at the chandelier somebody decided would be funny to put up in my little garage apartment.

every now and then you can hear a helicopter thrum overhead, hurrying somebody over to the medical center a half-mile away, hoping to catch them in time.
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down below, gene clark pointed out a great [long pauses] article that, among other things, addresses some tenets of fundamental christianity.

a friend of mine from school is a pretty sturdy fundamentalist, and we had one of our eon-spanning arguments the other day.
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