ninety-four

In 1994
I ran into a journo friend at Lol­la­palooza. He wrote a very pop­u­lar col­umn for the Om­a­ha dai­ly and we knew each oth­er from clubbing. 

He said “hey want to pre­tend to be my photographer?”
since his col­umn nev­er ran pho­tos and they gave him the pass anyway. 

So he gives me the pass and has me car­ry his tape recorder bag so I look more of­fi­cial. Spent the whole day back­stage. Had a 45 minute con­ver­sa­tion with George fuck­ing Clin­ton and lat­er re­al­ized how in­sane it was that I was al­lowed to take 45 min­utes of the man’s time. 

Around 4
a han­dler came up and ush­ered me back by a tem­po­rary bas­ket­ball court by the busses since I had 15 min­utes with the band to shoot and this was my win­dow to do that. I’m be­ing un­char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly qui­et since I don’t wan­na fuck this up. So I fol­low. Turns out The Band is Beast­ie Boys who laugh and seem a lit­tle re­lieved when I tell them what’s re­al­ly go­ing on. 

That’s the sto­ry of how I played hoops with Beast­ie Boys and some of Tribe and avoid­ed the fuck out of the ball since I suck at basketball.

I also pro­posed to Kim Deal and rode in a golf cart with a drunk as fuck Donita from L7.

I did not mar­ry Kim Deal but she said I was sweet which is more or less the same thing.
 
 

—ja­son malmberg

Flom­mist Ja­son Malm­berg is a sim­ple man who be­lieves in brown liquor and small dogs. He also makes art some­times. Copy­right © 2018 Ja­son Malmberg.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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