Fuck you.

I met Lydia Lunch today. She asked me to sit on her knee. I declined. She offered red lipstick. I declined. She went into a ferocious rant about female performers who try to cop her attitude but don’t understand the sheer breadth of her artistic vision, with particular reference to train wrecks. I lapped it up.

My wife asked later whether I made sleepy eyes, or wide open eyes at her. She also wanted to know whether I still found her attractive. I declined to answer both questions.

It was a real privilege.