There’s nothin’ ’bout this decade so far (MY decade, that is; my head-smacking new decade on this planet, which kicked off last December) that deserves pom-poms, craft lager, and sloppy blowjobs. But it’s only been four months, and I have never been one to have a lot of existential patience. That’s why I’m doing my thing(s). Just listen to Neil, his melody, and whatever it is he’s saying:

I do love this song, but the guy doesn’t actually make a whole lot of sense here, or anywhere, really. This is the same guy who played a one-note guitar solo in “Cinnamon Girl” (which I’m not linking to) and was considered a musical genius. But Neil has taken the maxim Work Smart, Not Hard to heights that almost none of us will ever achieve, and I duly respect this man for squeezing and wringing out the washcloth of his Baby Boomer privilege and social-contract-fucking-over until it couldn’t give him a driblet more of what he, and they, all hoard, to the absolute detriment and destruction of subsequent generations and the planet in general.

Neil, you are guilty by way of generation. Guilty!

Since Neil is apparently the axis around which this very post is revolving–and he didn’t ask to be in this position–an ex-boyfriend of mine told me that he once listened to “After the Gold Rush” with his mother–who had never heard the man, Neil, before–and she had crinkled her face up in confusion and said, “Who IS this old woman? She’s AWFUL.”

You will never hear our Neil the same way again.

I’m working on some things, kids.

Nadya.