thanksgiving

Of all the things I can be thankful for at this exact moment, I am most appreciative for Choke in Silverlake for fixing my moped (or, rather, fixing a miniscule mistake in my mechanic attempt) so I can ride it to work tonight and, mostly, this article about what it’s like to hang out with Prince for an hour and a half. It almost makes me miss my subscription to The New Yorker, except for all the crap that you have to be a New Yorker to “get.”

Here’s a few things you may not have known about Prince’s pad, but could probably have assumed based on his record of not knowing (or not caring) what decade it is:

• His house sticks out from all the others in his Beverly Hills gated community because of the bright purple fucking carpet spilling down the front steps.
• “…a Lucite grand piano with a gold-colored “Artist Formerly Known as Prince” symbol suspended over it…”
• “New Age music played in the living room, where a TV screen showed images of bearded men playing flutes.”
• Purple thrones stand perched on either side of the fireplace like it’s the temple of Amman.
• And down the hallway, he had “hung photographs of himself, in a Moroccan villa, in various states of undress.”
• Prince is a Jehovah’s Witness and attends a local Kingdom Hall and even knocks on doors to pass out those obnoxious newspapers. Could you imagine opening your door at 8am and Prince is there with “The Word.” I might even listen to his schpeel about God and crap!