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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, June 23   >>

WOWZA, DAVID POGUE IS MORE OF A DORK THAN I COULD HAVE EVER IMAGINED

I can do without "typing expansion software," but freeform database cards sound amaazzziinnnng.

WEEKLY NERD QUOTA FULFILLED.

(...)

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A girl from Scotland contacted me at my work e-mail today and said she'd be in LA for a month in September. She's currently a journalism school student who wants to do some press in our magazine. Since we have a relatively open-door policy for competent writers who simply want clips, I told her to give me a call when she'd be in town.

So I googled her name and it turns out that, aside from being a very, very good writer (effective, and without big, stupid academic words!) she's also a nude model for classy fetish photography. It's nowhere near smut, but it does push some envelopes.

I can almost see it now.
SCOTTISH GIRL: Hi, nice to meet you!

HUGO: booooooooobz
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I swear, under this Hispanic exterior is one very stupid Jew.

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One thing I hate about bowling is that feeling of throwing a ball at the exact same time the guy on the next lane is doing the same thing. You stop in mid-walk, and then he does, too, and then, it's all, like, "Uh, er, OKAY!!!"

It's sort of like being on a train, and seeing the train on the next rail move, and you wonder, "Wait, are we moving? Or are they moving? Are we both moving at the same time?"

Actually, no, that's not the same. At all, really.

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I'm buying bowling shoes. This is the first time I've ever said, "I think I'll pass on Craigslist for this one, guys."

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The Juli was so blown away at her results from using a 6-pound bowling ball that she excitedly asked everyone if there were any 4-pound balls.

Said The Bert: "IN MAH PANTS, BIITTCHHH."

They are dating.

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You know you can find a hooker on Craigslist? I didn't know this. I'm actually genuinely shocked.

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Ed McMahon died.

BILLY, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY TO EXPLOIT OLD PEOPLE'S BROKEN, UNMATCHED AND UNWANTED GOLD JEWELRY.

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I hate that all these fucking hipster indie rock fucks are always so goddamn sleepy and self-righteous in their press pictures. At least the power-pop dorks, including BROKENCYDE, are smiling and showing authentic excitement in anything they do, no matter how stupid they really are. If anything, their smiles are a more accurate portrayal of artists' success.

I really don't think milestones really go like this:
MANAGER: Hey, Arcade Fire. You're doing Letterman tonight.

WIN BUTLER: k.
Fuck man, I'd be stoked to do Letterman.
MANAGER: Hey, Hugo's-band. You're doing Letterman tonight.

HUGO: HOLY FUCKING SHIT HOLY FUCKING SHIT. HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. DO WE GET TO MEET PAUL? DO WE GET TO MEET PAUL!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!?!!!?!?
Smile, pricks.

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Seriously, there's TONS of middle ground between SUGAR HIGH HAPPY and MORBIDLY DISTRAUGHT. Grow the fuck up.

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If your band/act plays too-cool-for-school, there's a 90% chance I will throw your EPK away. Unfair? No. It's more than your songs. This is post-millenia music. It's all about AESTHETIC now. The music is invisible. It only exists in 0's and 1's now, and you'd be stupid to think that this is all that matters. There is more to merely making music. That, in the least, is the easy part. Now you need to make a presence, and give us all a reason to care so damn much.