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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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Thursday, August 13   >>


Our bass player, famously known here as The Tony, just quit.

...Not via e-mail.


And then there were two.

While The Tony is packing up for Mexico City to be a resident engineer for an opera singer, The Drew and I will hold post in these Los Angeleeez and trail on. I'm starting to believe that pop music never really leaves you. It's like reading, or eating or something. It's far surpassed a hobby. It's borderline obsession.

Our $40/month per person rate for full rehearsal and studio facilities is now gone, and so is 1/3 of the original lineup and vision. But, most importantly, The Tony is leaving and I am quite sad. He is my friend. Who else will I turn to for horribly inaccurate news?
THE TONY: Did you hear? They passed a law on universal health care.
And who else will I get quotes from?
THE TONY: I don't give a damn, my dear, frankly.

I'm full of anxiety and it just feels like every time I've reached a plateau 500 ft. up, I get kicked back down in one soulless swoop. And fuck romanticizing the life of a struggling artist -- they piss and moan far too much to even be comparable to my ultra American self. See that horse? I fell off of it, but because it was incompetent I cut its head off and ate its children for dinner.

That's what you do when you fall off a fucking horse.