There's a jazzy mural in the Lilypad and it reminds me
of the sort of painting my parents and grandparents have
in their house: musicians rendered cubistly, frenetic
atmosphere. Let the good times roll. You can make a
whole career off that sort of art; it's very
commercially viable, very pretty. And why not? I'm pretty sure
aesthetics are fascist—expecially when profound
confrontation of modernity is recast as nostalgic
kitsch—but wouldn't it be cool to live
in a Parisian fantasy? And the whole world is a
painting by Monet...
