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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Monday, May 18   >>


Next time someone tells me they want to move to Europe for "cultural reasons" I'm going to show them this video and then proceed to slap my dick on their face.

Anyway, last night there was an earthquake and I was, all, like, "noooOOOOO!" and the breaking news came on and the reporters were, like, "We're getting MANY calls right now regarding the earthquake, scared, and asking for information."

It just happened. What information could you possibly be seeking that someone couldn't possibly gather in 50 seconds? Do you have news desk phone numbers on speed dial? You know who I'm thinking of calling whenever there's an earthquake? Nobody. Because there could be another one. And I don't want to be the "guy who died while on the phone." That guy is a pussy. A big, fat pussy. I'm not him.

I scooped up my little doggy the moment shit started getting all Independence Day and I instantly started thinking of a movie I saw just the night before.

Marley & Me is seriously a painful movie to watch. The ending is torture. Torture. And that's aside from watching Jennifer Aniston act.

No, but seriously, if you've ever had a dog, watching Marley & Me will be the most devastating choice you've made in ages.

If you've never had a dog, you're gonna be, like, "Dude, this movie's fucking gay."