I wanted more
Than life could ever grant me
Bored by the chore
Of saving face — The Smashing Pumpkins, Today
Today marks precisely thirty-eight years since March 17 1967, the day that Billy Corgan made his way onto the wayward terrain that would eventually propel him to the status of musician, poet, and novelist. In addition, Billy Corgan has been the longest-running crush that I have ever admitted wasted my fantasies upon. Ahem.
Happy Birthday, Spaceboy. Yet I must not underemphasize the bittersweetness of this occasion, since I have waited for you to come around to mi casa for far too long. Indeed, I have watched from afar through the eyes of the paparazzi, whilst you dated supermodel after brainless supermodel. Dahling, they have about as much personality as my left pinky. Aye, I must bid you adieu, for I have worshipped you to no avail. It really is time.
My apologies, Billy, but I am promised to another now. No. Don’t cry. Please. I do hate to see men cry. Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous.
