Your Unemployed Daughter

Perhaps I didn’t know him, exactly, but I did tear many a page featuring his boyish visage from the pages of my Tiger Beat and/or Bop magazines, and I stuck them to my walls (all the better to gaze at) despite my parents hating that they’d eventually have to repaint my glorious seafoam green room.

It’s true, Wil Wheaton was really my youthful crush of choice, and then of course I went the hair band route (in an attempt to bring me back to earth my mother once told me that my great unrequited love, Sebastian Bach, probably had so many zits that he couldn’t see himself in the mirror for all the pus he’d squeezed onto it. Thanks, Mom, for that!).

But the Coreys also held a special place in my unjaded (at that time) heart, mostly due to a fantastic piece of entertainment called The Lost Boys (they don’t make soundtracks like that anymore, and, hey Stephenie Meyer, you didn’t make up vampires having fun!).

Moment of YouTube please.

And yet again, we can turn to Shakespeare for the right thing to say in these times.

Alas, poor [Corey]! … a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now?