Words and Music: Picture of Pablo
There is a picture out there, somewhere, of my friend Paul. It is marvelous; it is sublime in its absurdity. His hair is dyed orange, because we were in London, it was 1997, and that was the thing to do. It was meant to be Prodigy red or Sick Boy blonde or something, but it didn't come out right (see photo to your left -- which is not the photo). He is looking upward, squinting, and smiling in a coy-but-drunken way, with engorged lips... like an intoxicated chimpanzee who's just found half a banana in your garbage. He is shirtless. Scratch that, I think he's actually wearing a black bra . How did I forget THAT little tidbit? And someone is reaching into the frame, pinching at his bare chest. I can't even remember the sequence of events that led to this Pulitzer Prize-caliber photograph, and if we graduated in the age of Flickr I'd be able to show it to you. Alas, it's hidden away somewhere safe and secretive. Or perhaps under an old couch cushion ...