Hoov is present, anyhow implicitly, around the first year of this site (written 20 years ago by an idiot, please don't put weight on it, but is part of the “we” who felt old at 22 going to see Weezer in decline, for instance). A few months before I started writing here, I crashed for the summer on his couch in the Western Addition. He was a year ahead of me in getting out of college: a big deal then, I thought of him as worldly-wise. Took up bass duties in our band without much experience and put all his heart into learning the instrument. Wanted us to cover “Subbacultcha,” which shows exactly the right ludic sense even if it outstripped my abilities as a vocalist. A generosity with no second thoughts, to let me and my library suitcase sprawl all over his room for two months, thereby subsidizing the bad novel draft I wrote at Café Abir before driving out to Iowa with Jen and subsequently failing to conquer the world. It all only just happened. When I find myself around Fulton and Divisadero I swear it’s still happening.
