Valentine's day is around the corner. Again.
Yeah, right. Let me light up a cigarette, it's Valentine's we're talking about.
For single ladies over 29 this shit begins to feel awkward. Oh well. Actually, not really. It is what it is. I feel like a 65 year old Georgia O'Keeffe these days, Solemn and weird, looking at a non existing ghost ranch. And sometimes I feel like a 5 year old whistling on a kazoo.
Should I bake him a cake? I'm tired; I feel like an avocado sandwich is a thing of stature. Two slices of toasted bread and half an avocado stuck in there. Pink peppercorns gives an air of importance.
Should I buy him a tie? Nah. I've been thinking of those Jil Sander shoes for myself. Sorry, bye, xo.
Yet, my love for Beck knows no limits. Since '95 or so.
I own pretty much every bootleg released. Watching him perform Odelay live with a mariachi band on stage was an out of body experience,
I would buy him a bowl of pho and I would kiss him on the cheek and hold his hand. In Los Angeles CA, circa '96. Beck pretty much defined my love for everything weird americana and I truly much appreciate him. Forever and ever.
Beck - Feel like a piece of shit
Beck - Corvette Bummer
Beck - Burnt Orange Peel
Beck - Steal My Body Home
Beck - Lord Only Knows