The last time I saw Marty Christensen he and his girlfriend were walking south on 12th, I and my girlfriend were walking north. Just as we were about to pass, Marty barfed into a convenient parking lot. I remember thinking that either he had been drinking and was truly sick or that this was a comment on what Marty thought of me and that he possessed an exquisitely controlled ability to barf at will. I suspect it was the latter.…

In 1974, an unrelenting brownness was spreading across the world. Natural was the password and organic was becoming more than a branch of chemistry. The Marxist ideologies of 1968 were still in the air. Hippiedom was on its deathbed but still breathing as it became co-opted and institutionalized. A disillusioned baby boom generation was settling for tweed, corduroy and shag haircuts. Still looking for answers, our eyes settled on the perceived values of pre-industrial cultures to salve the atrocities of…