I graduated from college in December of 1991 and for most of 1992, in the last year of George I’s lame duck presidency, it was very difficult for me to find a job. The combination of the recession, Reno’s lack of opportunities for new advertising graduates, and my fear of moving away on my own kept me from full employment.
In the meantime, I did have a job of sorts, I freelanced at the Reno Gazette-Journal for their Neighborhood Newswatch column. It was one of those jobs where you get about what you put into it. I didn’t really ever want to be a newspaper journalist – I had decided that a couple of years prior, but the reporting was pretty easy, and if I played it right, I could get by with about five hours a week of work.
All of this let me have a lot more fun that summer, for example, this week in July of 1992 when I saw three shows in California in six days.
The Cure was the first of these shows. Again, I don’t remember a whole about the show. I do know that we pushed our way to the front of the stage and I got covered in bruises on my already pale skin. I had a doctor’s appointment that week and I think the doctor was pretty concerned and found it hard to believe I had gotten all that abuse at a concert.
They were supporting “Wish,” with one of the silliest songs on record, “Friday I’m in Love,” and I wasn’t too thrilled to hear the songs on that album. Afterward, I bought the requisite live and greatest hits discs, but really stopped following the Cure’s new stuff for good.
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