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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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Tuesday, May 19   >>


If Facebook implements a "Dislike" feature, my account is going to get frozen for disliking the shit out of everyone's updates.

"Had a great time at the Dodgers game!" DISLIKE.

"Drinks with the girls tonight... WOOO!!" DISLIKE.

"Ugh, work! Busy busy busy..." DISLIKE.

"Kevin is listed as 'In a Relationship' with Jenny." DISLIKE.

Kenny G is one of the headliners at this year's Playboy Jazz Festival.

Kenny. G.

You've got to be shitting me. To put him on the same plane as Wayne Shorter is like commemorating Tom Green and Stella Adler on montage.

There was this teacher I had in junior high whose class I always had to go to for detention (and, boy, did I have many detentions). I swear this on my mother: One corner of her wall was (maybe still is, actually) dedicated to Kenny G. It was shrine-like. Again, I am swearing this on my mother. Not only did she have pictures of him around her corner, but she had several framed pictures. In detention, she always played Kenny G records. Not because she thought we'd hate it, but because--and I swear this on my mother--she would blast Kenny G whenever there was an opportunity to.

She was also the teacher for the disabled kids. Something tells me those kids are now immune from recovery. Bless their hearts.

And now, "Breathless," By Kenny G:

His phrasing makes me want to go back in time and put a grenade in my mother's 30-year-old hands.