what the....?!

Recently, my friend posted about Kurt Cobain on his Facebook page - about how this month it would be the 15th anniversary of his death. He wrote about what he'd been doing when he'd heard about it - and a bunch of his friends had posted comments about where they'd been when they'd gotten the news. Sort of a JFK kind of thing.

I, too, remembered exactly where I'd been when I found out - in a bar a few streets from my host family's house in Segovia, Spain. I remember the night vividly - I'd gone with some friends, and we had just gotten there, and we were standing closer to the entrance of the bar, waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. I can see the reflection of the lights in the bottles and glasses over the bar, I can feel the ambiance. And I can still remember the looks of shock and bewilderment on my classmates' faces when the other half of our party walked in and informed us that Kurt Cobain had killed himself. I'd never heard of him or the band, though I was familiar with one of their songs, and I remember trying to understand the depth of my classmates' horror and sorrow - they had really cared about this man.

Reading the Facebook posts, and remembering that night, I googled Kurt Cobain to (perhaps morbidly) find out the day of his death, so I could pinpoint which night in April I'd been at that bar... and I finally did the math and realized that he'd died in 1994.
-Which came as somewhat of a shock, since my trip to Spain had happened in 1992.