Commie Girl

And the People, They Danced
Danced to the sweet, sweet music of impeachment!

Thursday was Orange Crush at the Orange County Museum of Art—free, and starring the band all the hep 25-year-olds are groooving to, Madman Moon! "That last song is the single," a guy enthused, to which I enthused back, "Yeah, a single for The Kinks in 1972!" Ray Davies should sue (oooo ooo ooo ooo ooo). Then I said lots of funny stuff about the Village Green Preservation Society that nobody got, but which was hilarious. Trust me. Some fun teens danced at the front, but when they tried to get some not-fun teens behind them to dance too, the not-fun teens exhibited such horrified looks and giggles you'd think someone had asked them to do something really embarrassing, like agreeing to be filmed by producers-unknown for a national audience that only wants to see assholes at their worst, or like, I don't know, bombing a hundred thousand people back to the Stone Age on a trumped-up lie.

Friday? How about Chris Gaffney and friends at the Fullerton Museum Center to open our own Jim Washburn's shiny, sparkly show of Nudie suits and 'spensive guitars mostly from the collection of Mac Yasuda. Billy Walker, a man with Reagan hair, purty blue eyes and preacher-man cadences sat in-uh with the band-uh on several of his age-old No. 1 records. It was the whitest music this side of Pat Boone, and it was beeyootiful, and the people, they danced.

Happy anniversary!
Happy anniversary!


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