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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, October 26   >>


Not having seen Weezer since 2005, I didn't really know what to expect at their Palladium set a couple nights ago. The white jump suits, the mash-up of MGMT and Lady Gaga, the Sabbath and Blur covers, the session drummer through half the set, the Patrick-playing-guitar, the Chamillionaire cameo, the Sara Bareilles cameo, the multitude of analog keyboards and the supremely-animated Rivers Cuomo (WTF!?!?!) made me wonder if I was even at a Weezer show in the first place.

They've changed -- a lot -- and I can only say that's a testament to artistry. What the fuck do you guys want, Buddy Holly pt. 2? When Weezer cockslap you in the face, you better take it.

And in a club nonetheless. It was like the 9th grade all over again. I'm going to continue wearing these black, thick-framed glasses with even more pride.


There are way too many weddings this year.


Oh my god, Applebee's is the worst restaurant ever.

I'm typically very, very generous with gratuity (I can only sympathize for people who have to deal with other people all day to pay for books they'll probably never have to read this semester), but last night I did something I thought I'd never do.

I tipped our server $1.

When I disputed something on the bill (I'm not cheap -- I just like to live by principle), the server asked if I wanted to "see the manager" in a tone that really kind of asked, "You wanna take this outside?"

Thinking back, I probably shouldn't have tipped him at all.

And the carrots tasted like anus.

Fuck Applebee's.


So U2 at the Rose Bowl was a bust. I think I got the hint that it might not be a good idea to go when I saw all local news stations covering the parking situation as a top story.

The last time I went to the Rose Bowl was in 1994 for the World Cup. I saw a match between Brazil and USA.

One of the Brazilian players accidentally made a goal in his own team's goal.

Brazil lost.

When said Brazilian player arrived back in Brazil the next day, he was murdered.



True story from same day: We were parking our car at the Rose Bowl and as I was exiting the car, another car behind us hit us and I fell.

That wasn't badass. I was 8-years-old. Not cool.


Okay, now that LA has finally taken a cold shower from its GUSTAVO DUDAMEL FRENZY CIRCLE JERK, I can now give the guy a full evaluation based on his inaugural performance, courtesy of KCET.

Fucker's pretty good. And he memorizes his charts, which is pretty rock star. Best off, he emotes. I hate conductors who conduct within a small range of movement right in front of their chests, moving their hands as if they were sewing. HANDEL WOULD NOT APPROVE.



Okay guyz, funny classical joke that I've probably written down on this blog at least 90 times (but in case you haven't heard it, GET A LOAD OF THIS BAG OF FUNNY!)

So Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarznrnzgenrnznrezregger are at Spago (sooo '90s) with Jerry Bruckheimer.

Bruckheimer goes, "Okay guys, I want to make a new action film whose characters are based on prominent classical music figures. Who would you like to be, Bruce?"

Bruce is all, like, "I'd love to be Rachmaninoff. He is dark and broody."

Bruckheimer goes, "NICE. LOVE IT. BEAUTIFUL. What about you, Sly?"

Sly goes, "No question -- Beethoven."

Bruckheimer's all, like, "AWESOME. GREAT. OPUS. And you, Arnold?"

Arnold's all, like, "I'LL BE BACH!!!!!!!"