This blog is run by Hugo.
This blog is updated Monday through Friday.
I'm a 20something guy in Southern California trying to make the world a better place. For signs of such making, do not ever, under any circumstances, refer to this blog.
Wednesday, November 25
>>THIS HAS BEEN AN INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT WEEK
Personal documentation: I. Am so tired.
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I'm not the kind of guy that goes "FML" or "I'm tired" or "my job sucks" or "blah blah blah general complaint that is typically unmerited."
I'm usually pretty content with life, and never, ever bored, only because I learned at a really young age that I can make a living and fill my time up with things I love, like music, and writing, and funniness, all around good people, and safe amounts of beer.
I think people who complain about work are about as annoying as people who complain about their wallets being too fat. If you don't like your job, or your life, then why not change it? Plus, no one cares, really. Sure, we say, "Oh, that sucks," but we really don't give it an afterthought.
If anything, we're just annoyed by all that negativity in the air. I know I am. Shut up and do whatever you want to do. You can do it if you want.
OPRAH SAYZ, "LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE." I KNOW THIS BECAUSE I HAVE THE DECEMBER ISSUE OF O AT HOME BECAUSE ELLEN DEGENERES IS ON THE COVER AND I REALLY LIKE HER DAYTIME PROGRAM (which brings light to my next topic: Lesbian talk show hosts. We all know Oprah's queer as a 3-dollar bill, and that her program is all sorts of awesome. Ellen, however, is openly gay, and even has a better TV show. But I still think Rosie had the most bitchin' of talk shows. First, it was on right when I got home from school. Then, she had that "Tommy, can you hear me?" button. Then, there was a LOT of Koosh (tm) balls. Plus, her band was pretty good. And, also, she was pretty hysterical, even by today's standards. Her comedic anger and shouted punchlines are unprecedented on daytime TV. Good times.)
This is weird.
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But, anyway, yeah, I'm really tired, but legitimately. The process of law is extremely and mentally taxing. Personal documentation over.
I went to Disney Hall for the first time last weekend.
It was like my first time at Dodger Stadium. I was really, really, really young. I remember the long walk from car, to ticket check in, through the cement halls. What I remember most was going through our seat section walkway, into the stadium and seeing this gigantic baseball arena just explode before my eyes, sorta like hiking up to the Grand Canyon. It left quite an impression on me. I didn't even like baseball--I still don't, actually--and I just never seemed to forget that lasting sensation. I'll pay tons of money to visit every baseball stadium in the country just to replay that feeling.
And the same feelings came back when I went into Disney Hall. The Adam and I walked in and were genuinely speechless. Cathedral, 2.0? CHA.
Best off, the program (which consisted mainly of minimalist music and art-noise experimentation) was absolutely polarizing. The artists were either drenched in slobbery love or dismissed (literally) to people walking up and leaving ...mid piece.
I suppose being seated up against the wall of the house organ was what really did it for me. For over one hour, Terry Riley played a solo set on organ that kept my body violently vibrating. It was then that I wished I did drugs, and that drugs were legal and, more importantly, super duper safe.
I think my right ear drum is damaged from the set.
You've had a good run, fuck. I mean, seriously, there really is no other way of articulating something way more awesomer (dare I say gooder) than with you, man. But, as I grow old and weary and frail and apathetic, I also become old and weary and frail and apathetic of my old ways. Will it slip up? Oh, I'm sure of it. Yeah, I'm damn near fucking perfect, but, still, I'm human.
Not using "fuck" will force me to be a gooderer writer, hopefully to become the bestest I can be at it.
Will it work? Iono. I'm sure it'll help some. Especially socially. Often times, I'll meet someone or a group or whatever of new people and I'll have to subtly pepper in a "fuck" to offset my supposedly dickish demeanor. It's a vocal handshake with a shoulder grab, really implying, "It's okay. I'll let you in. Say whatever you want. Really."
Hm.
Well, as with every retirement, there must be a swan song. But the word "fuck" is bigger than Johnny fucking Carson. This leave will merit many swan songs, but there's only time for a few. And the curtains peel...
I had the most bitching, amazing, most fucked up and ridiculous doubles tennis game last night. I'm going to wake up with aches and pains and, UNGH, feels good to get my ass kicked in straight sets.
...
Redeeming, albeit sexist, fact: Lost in 3 straight sets. Not 2.
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HOLY SHITBALLS, BATMAN, IT'S THANKSGIVING NEXT WEEK.
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I'm meeting with a lawyer today. I hope his name is Bob Loblaw. Babs Labla?
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One of my piano students's mom is such a fox. Like, the epitome of MILF. And she knows it. She's bad. *SPANK* Just kidding. Well, maybe. This is the thing. She likes the attention, and she wears the liking on her sleeve. For instance, last week I went in and she was sweeping the kitchen floor. "OH, MY GOODNESS, I'M SORRY, I LOOK SO HORRIBLE RIGHT NOW...! *GIGGLE*" She was donned in full make-up and, swear to god, was dressed as if she were going to go for light, afternoon shopping at The Grove (that means full-on cleavage action). She is kinda weird. In the middle of her daughter's lesson, she came into the piano room and watched us for the remainder of the hour with a glass of wine.
It was 4:30 p.m.
This woman. Is bat fucking crazy.
BUT I LAHK IT.
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The Wallflowers are incredible. I'd only known of this song from the months of its original release, but I revisited their work to learn how to play rock organs. You really can't learn rock organ from a better group.
And in a lot of ways, this has become my theme as of late. I'll make it home with one headlight, even though I'll get pulled over for illegally driving with a busted light. But it's cool.
Thursday, November 19
>>'ELLO, MA'E, 'OW AHHHH YEEEUUUUUUWWWW?
Texting with The Girlfriend, No. 291
HUGO: So this British lady just called me and was referred to me for piano instruction by one of my other clients.
THE GIRLFRIEND: OMG! I bet the boy is a Beatle.
HUGO: It's a 12-year-old girl.
THE GIRLFRIEND: OMG! I bet the girl is going to be Amy Winehouse.
That would be.
So.
Awesome.
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The Univision gig I've been part of for the past two months-ish is coming to an end on Friday night and I am absolutely bummed. A group that I thought would be ultimately gay ended up being one of the tightest groups I've ever played with, and whose members were some of the nicest people ever. And it ended up being fun. And Shakespeare got paid, son.
To cake onto the sadness, the dress rehearsal last night for the big Friday event (brought to you by Univision and some autistic kids foundation) had a bunch of parents of autistic parents pretty much thanking us to the heavens for our set. Sounds lame, but providing some hope to people is worth more than making money.
Unfortunately, providing hope doesn't pay the bills Unless, of course, you're black, and you're running for president.
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And the musical journey continues. I don't even know how to start a band. The ones I've been in have always been an accident of friends getting together and saying, "HEY, WAIT A SECOND, THIS IS ACTUALLY PRETTY DECENT." But from scratch? Err...
And without any musical friends left? This is the hardest shit ever. The shitty part is that, for me, music is a catch-22: If I'm not in a band, I'll go crazy. If I'm in a band, I'll still go crazy. I really don't get how people get this right.
I always cite Nickelback. Nickelback are a horrible fucking group, atrocious to culture, really. But they didn't back down despite all the shit talking. And they recorded several albums after what I'm sure were hours upon weeks upon months of rehearsing the same 25 songs to get them right. And, when they went to track, I'm sure they didn't bring their girlfriends or their other friends into the studio. And, when they were on stand by, I'm sure they didn't go to the lounge room to play XBOX and dick around with cue sticks. They were crafting their batch of 25 songs, all in neighboring keys, and with virtually identical chord changes and devices. And no matter how much you hate their music (even more than I do), you can't take away the fact that they did it. They fucking did it. They wrote it. They rehearsed it. They tracked it. They released it. They promo'd the fuck out of their shitty EPs and LPs and they fucking made a life in creating music.
Think about that next time you hear a Nickelback song. Ask yourself, "Have I ever worked as hard for anything in my entire life as much as these guys have worked in creating this piece of shit single that I'm listening to right now?"