April 27, 2006

THE FINE POINTS OF DISGUST

Britt makes a heretofore unmade argument against American Apparel.

I am in Seattle, the ghosted city. I just read advance chapters from Everett True's soon-book about the N-Band (no, not The Necros!), which takes place in the Seattle of yore, during a time when I only knew one other person, (Jim Tilman!), who was not on drugs. My memory now, of the town is EMP-events (chainsmoking and watching PBS in a shared hotel room with Julianne, SFJ's Jamiroquai impression, Xgau's paper that ended with the phrase "first glance of labia") and the other half with gauzey memories of 1993-5: watching friends shoot up, vomit and puff from cotton fever and bomb hills on their skateboards.

But now, I am in one of my top-five places ever, the Rem Koolhaus-designed downtown library. I got here too early, it was me, some sunburned tourist boys and a woman who had shit her pants, eagerly waiting to get in at 9:22 am.

Posted by Jessica at April 27, 2006 12:38 PM | TrackBack