Ah, it's that time again, that magical time of the week when I force you to watch some random thing I dug up out of the dustbin of history. No, don't try to stop me; it's quite useless to struggle. I'm like a Bond villain that way. You'll get away before you die, sure, but you're damn sure going to have to sit there and listen to me ramble for a while first.
This week's thing comes to us courtesy of one of the great crushes of my adolescent life, Mr. Liz Phair.
This week's thing comes to us courtesy of one of the great crushes of my adolescent life, Mr. Liz Phair. I mentioned her in a column yesterday, and suddenly remembered just how much I loved her. I can still hear the radio in my old bedroom, always tuned to the Point back when the Point actually meant something, and "Polyester Bride" is floating out of the speakers.
On a related note, if Ms. Phair would like to get in touch with me regarding some sort of long-overdue tryst, all she would have to do is email me. I'm remarkably available. And by remarkably available, I mean painfully, woefully available. So look, Liz, let's stop this silly game we've been playing all these years. I love you, you could probably find out who I am if you wanted, it's a match made in heaven!
I know you're a little older now, but I can see past that! You're still beautiful to me. All I ask is that you wear that space helmet from the "Supernova" video to bed at least once. That's not too much to ask, is it?
Here's my angel performing the aforementioned "Supernova" on Letterman, from waaaayyyy back in the day.