I don’t remember the day that Kurt Cobain died. I wasn’t really into Nirvana when I was eleven. Whether it was because I wasn’t angsty enough as a little boy or just didn’t get down I’ll never know.
What I remember, very vividly, is the day that Jonathan Brandis died. I was twenty at that point and I remember the look on the faces of many of the girls I knew. Up until that point I had forgotten that stage in our young lives when a good chunk of American girls were in love with him. And I don’t just mean “in love” in that way that I’m in love with Karen O. I mean as truly and purely as an eleven-year-old girl CAN love. They would have married him and cherished him and their hearts broke on that day remembering the love they had for that face that stared back at them from their Tiger Beat magazines.
I don’t know why I bring this up. It’s just funny what the mind holds onto. I still don’t like Nirvana.
I don’t remember the day that Kurt Cobain died. I wasn’t really into Nirvana when I was eleven. Whether it was because I wasn’t angsty enough as a little boy or just didn’t get down I’ll never know.
What I remember, very vividly, is the day that Jonathan Brandis died. I was twenty at that point and I remember the look on the faces of many of the girls I knew. Up until that point I had forgotten that stage in our young lives when a good chunk of American girls were in love with him. And I don’t just mean “in love” in that way that I’m in love with Karen O. I mean as truly and purely as an eleven-year-old girl CAN love. They would have married him and cherished him and their hearts broke on that day remembering the love they had for that face that stared back at them from their Tiger Beat magazines.
I don’t know why I bring this up. It’s just funny what the mind holds onto. I still don’t like Nirvana.
