This was spraypainted on La Cienega just above Fountain, a couple of blocks by my house. Knew it would be the cover as soon as I saw it.
(early 1990s alt/indie scene magazine L.A. based)
The gross issue!
An incredible tribute to Tipper Gore at the Alexander Wang show.
Someone posted on Twitter about getting a convertible and I flashed back to my first and most beloved car, a piece of crap Fiat Spider that I loved with my entire soul. It had been lovingly owned by some guy in Virginia for fifteen years, who had painted a tiny Italian flag on the driver-side door and who gave me a tiny box of tiny Fiat tools along with the car. Growing up in a family that tended toward big, boxy Volvos (hello white-upper-middle-class cliche and privilege), having a car that was so tiny I could touch every single part of it from the front seat was an exhilarating feeling, and putting the top down was just heaven.
I was eighteen, ending my sophomore year in college, I think? It was a ridiculous car to buy: dangerous—due to a loophole in the California import laws, it didn’t have seatbelts, didn’t have to pass a smog check, and didn’t have a roll bar; unreliable—true to all the jokes about Fiats, it literally came with a mechanic, named Giuseppe, who I got to know really well and who ended up teaching me to fix a lot of the more chronic problems myself. To this day I am ridiculously proud of myself for knowing what a solenoid is; and impractical—I was moving every year at least at that point in my life. I loved it beyond belief.
Everyone said “If you get a convertible, then you will only want convertibles for the rest of your life,” and I was like “Um, so?” It’s true, though. After the Fiat I had a Toyota Celica convertible, then two huge Chrysler LeBarons. My last last car before I moved to New York was a regular car, a blue Ford Escort. I hardly ever drove it, though. By that point I was living in walkable West Hollywood, sort of kind of making a living as a writer, and had discovered I could get boys to drive me almost anywhere I wanted to go.
In my many daydreams about moving, to Oakland, or to Portland, or to Seattle, the dreams always contain a convertible. They just represent freedom to me.
I’m pretty sure this is from my friend Ted, but chuffed by this comment on a story about Sassy.
"Still and still waiting for my FLAG comp invites. Black Flag is already one ahead of you guys.. Keith. Bill, Chuck…. get with it. Me plus one or I may lose my objectivity just as I lost my virginity over a piece of cardboard in a junk mail-house years ago( well maybe not that many years ago).But I’m a cheap date with a lot to offer. So dusty. Too much info I know- but I’m asking less." —Jack Brewer
I always kind of loved this song. RIP Edie Gorme
New music from Tim and Jesse of Operation Ivy.
In Utero 20th anniversary promo GIFs.