When I Was Cruel.

I have made the switch back from the grandiose royal bedroom to my original, bachelor pad bedroom. The big room is our new studio, providing a much better and less claustrophobic atmosphere for the underpaid performers.

It was a bitter-sweet transition.

I am excited for the ch-ch-change, but there were many artifacts in the house-cracks that would've been better left unremembered. Well, I suppose they are best thrown in the garbage..

For those of you who haven't subscribed to my weekly podcast, We Hit & Run, please do so below (I've provided a link for those of you who are not iTunes users):

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The latest broadcast does cross that awkward, uncomfortable line. It's a cringe-worthy event that should not go unheard.

Tomorrow we are christening the new studio with a Real Kid Radio bash, an extravaganza featuring the members of We Hit And Run, Jim And Them, and special guests. It'll also include the long awaited drink-off/pose-off between Sid and Jake. TUNE IN. SUBSCRIBE.

We can be heroes...

The Greatest Daddy-Daughter combo that television ever let go.

There are few feelings as nauseating as picking up the pink and white pile of Clark Country legal papers. They contain everything from foreign signatures to her handwriting to "Five Years Months" written as our relationship length- the correction was still overestimated. Just reading an order as simple as "Stay out of trouble, and make your court appearance" seems overwhelmingly difficult- as if some cosmic occurrence or lack of gas will cause me to miss that one appointment, in turn causing me to miss food that isn't proudly referred to as "Chow."

I dialed the public defender's office today, didn't breathe or blink until the ninth ring. Now, I wait for the call back.

I can't wait until this is behind me.

Also- I got my damaged phone replaced, and my contacts were cleared. What a great feeling. I'm starting over.

How often do you really look at a mans shoes?

I got a whole lot of traveling to do. I got a mark to make.

I am a man who is too modest to list a lot of his goals. I rarely act that way when it comes to professing my ability to accomplish them.

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

Abby purchased Squeeze tickets for her and I, they are playing The Bank Of America Pavilion in Boston next month. If I make the trip to attend this show and reacquaint with that gorgeous woman, it will take a small chunk out of my Los Angeles savings (a move which I assume is still a plan). I'm sure by then I will win a large gambling-treasure, but if not I will have to wait a couple more checks before joining Amanda in CA.

As much as I miss the green grass, the east coast women, and Ricky LaCapria... I'll have to make sure my west coast future is secure before dancing to Glenn Tilbrook as he belts out If It's Love in front of thousands of lucky geezers.

I will leave you with another excerpt from Couldn't Call It Unexpected:

Eyes have been augmented with telescopes- two or three to a house hold. The “global killer” has yet to show its face, though I’m willing to guess that it resembles a burning chunk of falling feces. I don’t need a two hundred dollar tube of metal to tell me that. I’d just as soon trust a kaleidoscope to save my life, before I entrust the end of it to a telescope.

The Ron & Fez best-of shows have been incredible this week. The Power Hour is replaying right now- East Side Dave's second attempt, where he successfully downs the 61 shots. We would perform our power hours using this audio as our timekeeper, it brings back a lot of memories (slam-time), including this one:

I remember one night I decided to throw my own, one man power hour while posting Myspace bulletin updates throughout the sixty minutes. I got a lot of feedback that night, the night of October 14th, 2006.

I'm 34 shots into my one-man power hour. There's very few people I'd like to share this moment with, and chances are half of them are dead or named either Elvis Costello or Glenn Tilbrook.

There will definitely be another one of these (hopefully with people) before I head off further west.

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Music: Hunky Dory - David Bowie

I am seriously thinking about taking up an offer to live in Los Angeles. It'll give me the chance to get a new library card, and to meet new people. The opportunity arrives from somebody I've been e-buddies with for years through Livejournal and Myspace, each conversation consisted of me, without shame, confessing my internet love for her.

The idea came up when her current roommate (who, ironically, is from Boston) was going to move back East. There is now a chance that he will be staying, but if he does they want to move into a new place with three bedrooms. I fit in the equation regardless, and I can't see myself passing it up.

At my age, during this period of my life, it is the best change I can make. I will be able to take classes out in CA, just the same as I would if I were to stay where I am now. I'll also be able to say I've lived in Boston, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. The only logical progression from there would be to London.

The desert life is burnt out for me. I've had my cds stolen by an asian lover, I've had sex in a stolen car, I've been engaged, I've played daddy, I've been court tried.

There's no telling if the change will be permanent, but I can't see any place I live being permanent right now. I do know that if I start school out there, it'll mean that I plan on staying for a long while. There's no telling who I'll meet, or what'll happen from there.

I can see that there is an incredible group of people awaiting me in LA. Looking back at my first entry in this blog, it seems as though the last couple months have been building up to this.

When Mighty Horse rocks he rocks the fat ass.

Music: Imperial Bedroom + Ron & Fez



Twenty one years old, what a milestone!

I typically don't buy into the whole "new year, empty slate" gimmick when it comes to focusing on the future. I'm more of a "year in review" type of person, where I'll look back and judge the music, the films, and occasionally savor the memories. I will not, however, set goals for a new year, or drive the streets pretending that the sun in my eyes means any less harm than it did the week before.

The sun will always be my annoying, 4.5 billion year old sibling, regardless of the date.
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But, I think I'm going to turn cheese for my 21st birthday. There's just something about the number- legally, socially, and someday nostalgically. I want this year to mean something, more than the previous 20. I want to tell my future daughter about how I got my act together in 2007-2008, and finally began my life at the age of 21 (despite the fact that she'll be three years into her tenure as an outspoken Yale scholar). I'm not going to sit here and act like this age carries more responsibility than the others for any other reason than the importance I am personally placing on it. But I've always considered ambition of the self-driven variety to be the proudest, and most rewarding.

There were a lot of life changing mistakes I made last year. I like to think that I have learned from them. From my experiences and the people I've met at my current workplace- there is a clear vision of the life I don't want. I believe that's enough for me to accomplish the long term goals of the life I deserve.
The problems faced in my 20th year will bleed over, possibly into the next seven ages to come. I believe in myself... for once. I'm capable of overcoming this, and I will not allow it to alter me in a negative light. Regardless of the pain or the outcome, I will not turn into an awful person, even if I'm labeled as one. Goddamn I'd make a good Jedi.

Anyway, let the cheese begin now. Lets set some goals for age 21.
- Drink alcohol.
- Consume drugs.
- Have sex.
- Listen to Rock N' Roll.
- Go back to s c h o o l .

It helps to set the bar high. For me to put this itinerary to use I am going to need to meet the right people. I can't drink with just anybody, fuck just anybody, expose just anybody to Elvis Costello.

Nor can I major in just anything.

This year will be my On The Road, only with slightly less traveling.

I will reacquaint with my life's most important accomplices, and stay up all night with my life's future convicts. None of us are patsies.