In case you missed Tompkins’ short tribute.
On learning that Yauch had passed away, I walked around Brooklyn assuming every woman, egg man, child, and pet to be thinking the same thing: I wondered which track their brains were playing. (“High Plains Drifter” over here—I always liked the way Yauch said radar detector.) Over the weekend, I read every eulogy/tribute/famous-rapper tweet possible, because I like it when rappers quote rappers and turn into fans. (Traditionally, this profession doesn’t encourage you to jock anyone but yourself.) In this grief, those of us who grew up with hip-hop needed that sort of thing. I also found solace in seeing the words penis balloon and Buddhism sharing the same obituary.
