By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Photo by Jeanne RiceThere is no crueler love than the love perpetrated by the screechy, acned teens of MTV's FANatic. Don't know the show? It involves a hapless lamb getting whisked off in a limo and flown to some godforsaken place like Miami, where said lamb is armed only with a pen and a clipboard and set loose to "interview" the Backstreet Boysor Britney Spears, big pink cartoon hearts shining forth where eyeballs ought to be. But secretly cherished hopes will be dashed—Gavin will not take one look at the fanatic and forget all about Gwen—and even if Enrique (or Kid Rock or TLC) gives the fanatic a hug and a kiss at the end, it is a kiss of duty, of pity, and the fanatic knows it. But the tears cannot—must not—fall. Everyone must pretend that all the fanatic wanted was an interview. MTV should be ashamed of itself.
That said, we were delighted to actually meet such a fan girl, to bask in her presence. And hell—we even got to interview her! In the flesh!!! The occasion was Jan. 23's grand bash marking the end of Fullerton's venerable Club 369 (don't worry! They're just moving! Do you feel better now?), with supersecret special guest appearances by Zebrahead, Burnin' Groove and Lit.
And here is Lynn's story, which she tells us at a mile a minute while outside in line, where she's been since 5:30 p.m., which is pretty late for her because usually she tries to get there about eight hours ahead of time so she can be sure to get in the front row. Why? BECAUSE SHE LOVES LIT!!!
Lynn is 21 years old. She is a sweet, darling, lovely girl, cute and blond and plump and so full of excitement she almost bursts out of her Lit-embroidered shirt (which she had made to her own exacting specs) and her Lit-logo ski cap (which she also had made). She works at a bowling alley snack bar in Riverside County, and they have the video to "Zip-Lock" there, and she never lets them close the alley until they've played it for her in its entirety, and if anyone tries to order anything from her while she's watching the video, she just shoos them away because she is BUSY!!!
Lynn once took an 18-hour Greyhound bus to Reno to see Lit, even though she wasn't sure if she would be able to get in because she was still underage. She got in!!! But she didn't have a way to get to the show in Vancouver. And she was SAD!!!
Sunday is Lynn's 11th Lit show. It would have been her 12th, but A.Jay got strep throat for one show and had to cancel. And then Sprung Monkey came out and said something like, "We're not Lit," and then added something like, "Fuck them," or, "They suck," or something, and Lynn screamed, "Fuck YOU!!!"
Sometimes, if people have boring cars, Lynn will surreptitiously slap a sticker on there. She has five Lit stickers on her back window, but she says she doesn't need her back window to see, since she's got side-view mirrors. SAFETY FIRST, LYNN!!!
Lynn wanted to slip the 369 doorman a hundred bucks to get her underage friend in, but she didn't think it would work. We think it probably WOULD!!!
After a while, we head inside, worn-out. And there, soap-opera drama unfolds all the hell over the place. Thrilling! A beautiful (and very young) girl whom we know slightly and like immensely is trying to patch things up with her handsome rock-star boyfriend. They've been "fighting" for a couple of weeks, she tells us, and he didn't even tell her about the show. But she didn't come here to make a scene or anything; she just came to hang out with her friends. We wonder how many times we've said that very thing while trying to stalk someone gracefully.
And so our dear chum Alison M. Rosen holds up a wall and eavesdrops disgracefullywith us—with that awful mix of sympathy and the harrowing delight of watching someone's heart break right before one's eyes, for which one feels really guilty, but come on! It's exciting!—as our young friend stands stock-still three feet away from the estranged boyfriend. For a good 15 minutes, she stands there, waiting for him to notice while he chats with friends and well-wishers. But that's not why she's standing there; she just happens to be standing there because it's the very worst spot in the entire room from which to see the stage. He never looks at or talks to her once.
Soon we are chatting with a mutual friend, and we mention the couple. "I don't think we're talking about the same person," he says. "He doesn't have a girlfriend. He did a couple of weeks ago. . . ." And that's when we realize how very lucky we are that the myriad times we've been overcome with love for various rock stars it never amounted to anything: we just hate it when someone breaks up with us but doesn't bother to mention it. It's not even a little bit fun. Trust us.