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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, November 24   >>

TOTES POPPED A CHERRY

I went to Disney Hall for the first time last weekend.

It was like my first time at Dodger Stadium. I was really, really, really young. I remember the long walk from car, to ticket check in, through the cement halls. What I remember most was going through our seat section walkway, into the stadium and seeing this gigantic baseball arena just explode before my eyes, sorta like hiking up to the Grand Canyon. It left quite an impression on me. I didn't even like baseball--I still don't, actually--and I just never seemed to forget that lasting sensation. I'll pay tons of money to visit every baseball stadium in the country just to replay that feeling.

And the same feelings came back when I went into Disney Hall. The Adam and I walked in and were genuinely speechless. Cathedral, 2.0? CHA.

Best off, the program (which consisted mainly of minimalist music and art-noise experimentation) was absolutely polarizing. The artists were either drenched in slobbery love or dismissed (literally) to people walking up and leaving ...mid piece.

I suppose being seated up against the wall of the house organ was what really did it for me. For over one hour, Terry Riley played a solo set on organ that kept my body violently vibrating. It was then that I wished I did drugs, and that drugs were legal and, more importantly, super duper safe.

I think my right ear drum is damaged from the set.