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Happy Pesach!
April 5, 2004

Yeah, I guess it has been 10 years. Kind of freaky, the way time flies. I really remember it as if it was? oh, I don't know... 5 years ago? Yeah, so my cousin RJ and my dad and I are eating at Taco Bell (my dad's fave haunt), and we're listening to the radio in my dad's car. See, eating at Taco Bell means going through the drive-through, then eating in the parking lot in the car. We never, ever go in.

So we're sitting out there, and it?s kind of getting late. RJ and I are talking about misc. crap. He was 12 or 13 and I was 14 and 3/4th. The radio is playing songs I like, which was a rarity in those days. Suddenly, it comes to my realization that every single song we?ve heard for the past 15 minutes is a Nirvana song. They?ve even broken out Bleach and possibly played a song or two from Incesticide. There is definitely something strange going on here.

We finish our burritos and my dad starts driving us home. He actually starts to talk, but it sounds like complains to a 14 year old?s ears, asking us why we like this music when it is so obviously violent and sick. My dad didn't like the Smashing Pumpkins poster on my wall, either. He said that the band name clearly indicated violence against children. The poster was from the cover of the Siamese Dream album, which further compounded his argument. RJ and I sigh at his request for knowledge. We obviously can read much more into ?this kind of music? than some 40-something guy.

Just as we were crossing over 101, the music stopped and the DJ came on. RJ and I had been discussing the strange trend in music from this otherwise teeny-bopper radio station, and how it was really really weird that they just kept playing Nirvana. Over and over again, as if it were some kind of chant. The DJ starts talking, and we really aren't paying attention. Suddenly, 3 words made their way through the ambient noise of chatter and into my ear: "Kurt Cobain dead."

After we got home, RJ and I were glued to the tube. It being one of the few years of my life with cable, we were of course tuned into MTV. We sat open-mouthed as Kurt Loder oh-so-calmly explained the situation; Kurt Cobain was dead, but more than that, he committed suicide.

I went through all of my magazines - I was a pack rat then even more than I am today. I thought that just a few weeks ago I had read that Kurt was happy; I read how he was finally getting on with his life. He was enjoying music, his wife, his daughter, all while not enjoying drugs. Of course, this was Bop we're talking about here.

I cut out all of the pictures and articles I could find about Kurt from all of my magazines and taped them into a collage on my wall. The picture from the front page of People was in the middle. I was enthralled. I wouldn't say I was obsessed; I was in love with the idea of having lost oneself so much that ending it all in a blaze of heroin and a shotgun seemed v. romantic. I sat in front of my stereo speaker and listened to Nirvana CDs one after another, forcing myself to cry. It felt good to cry, even if there really wasn't a reason.

I kept that collage up in my bedroom the whole time I lived with my dad. That summer, I moved with my mom to Idaho, and placed all of the scraps in a hanging file folder, which I kept in my filing box for years. Once in a while I'd go through that box, and desperate for more room, would eye that folder carefully, not sure if I was ready to part with something so obviously loved and carefully tended to, or at least it was at one time.

Yesterday, while cleaning like a madwoman on the eve of Pesach, I eyed that folder again, and finally threw it out, before I even remembered that today was the day. I don?t feel any kind of regret of course. The funny thing is is that the shooting really didn?t shock me. It didn?t hurt or truly make me feel anything. I felt like it should, and made my collage, and tried to look depressed, when so many of my peers were doing the same. We all talked about it more than we should have, really. We didn?t know what to think because it wasn't really a part of our lives; it was an extra piece of drama for the week, and it would pass by without a whisper later. I don't really know why I remember that day that well. I just do.

What I really can't believe is that I just wrote so much on the death of someone I didn't even know. Besides, it was that bitch Courtney that had him murdered, anyway. Everyone knows that.


that is very interesting. i never felt anything about kurt cobain's death but i blame it on UK pop...all boy bands and stuff...

Posted by: j-a at April 5, 2004 11:57 PM

I thought it was a shame..imagine how much more interesting music he could have written if he'd lived. And he was cute.

Posted by: teahouseblossom at April 6, 2004 3:42 AM

my dear teahouse - no shite he was cute. but cute like heroin chic. nice to look at, but i don't think i would want to touch.
j-a - at least you had UK pop. it's a step above us pop, which is just mostly crap.

Posted by: devlyn at April 6, 2004 9:24 AM