Lounge nights

In the course of going through and mak­ing sense of my sprawl­ing and unwieldy vinyl col­lec­tion, I’ve been shar­ing what I find by DJing at clubs. When I start­ed, I won­dered why I had­n’t done it soon­er. So I’m spin­ning at Por­co Lounge and Tiki Room again this month — most­ly vin­tage lounge, and inevitably this night will end up as a kind of trib­ute to Doris Day. A decade ago — almost to the day — I stayed at her place in Carmel. I knew her pass­ing was inevitable, but it was still sad when it hap­pened. She was the end of something.

The Kurt Cobain Game

Sui­cide is tricky. For the indi­vid­ual, it promis­es an absolute end to a cer­tain kind of tem­po­ral pain, sure — but then, just as quick­ly, it trans­fers that pain onto oth­ers. And accord­ing to its alge­bra, the mul­ti­pli­ers can be huge.

In the absence of Mr. Cobain there’s a lit­tle game I’ve played, The Kurt Cobain Game. I wrote about it for Hobart today: “Kurt Cobain Does­n’t Know Much Of Any­thing.”