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, March 22
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LET'S DO THIS, AMERICA
- Wikifonia.org is my new favorite site. It's a library loaded with tons of great lead sheets. Not only are they all delivered on PDF, but they are also transpose-friendly, which means you lazy dorks can change everything to the key of C if you want. THIS IS THE BEST SITE I'VE FOUND IN YEARS. THANKS, INTERNET!!!
- Still don't have television at my new pad. DirecTV are the kings of the runaround. I've been missing The Amazing Race, American Idol, and Celebrity Apprentice. This is what Gitmo must feel like.
- Man, it must be pretty bomb to be Obama right now. That swagger is going to slowly develop into a strut. Pimp cane and all. < /Racist>
- Hi, Twitter people. Sadly, yes, this is my blog. #suckit
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It was a nice Sunday afternoon yesterday, so I went out with my mom, chillin' out with her, gettin' some grub, takin' her shoppin' with me 'n shit, and, for some reason, I get the itch to get a hair cut. So we go to the nearest place that says "BARBER SHOP" and we go in to find the joint full of brothas. This wasn't like gee-golly-hey-Mr.-Sanders barber shop; no, this was full-on Ice Cube BAHBAH SHAP. Where's Cedric the Entertainer?
As if it wasn't embarrassing enough going in with MY MOTHER (they all looked at me like I was fucking high), I instantly realize how gay I'm going to come off giving my barber my hair cut details. Imagine telling this to a barber who doesn't put up with silly shit:
"Half an inch off, even on sides and back, with a little extra on top for styling. No machines, just scissors, please."
He put the buzz-cutter-machine-of-death thing away and, without response, started cutting away.
By the time my sides were done, three other guys next to me had already finished. I was feeling really lame at this point.
I then realize I have no cash. I never carry cash. I'm a debit card guy. Period.
"Do you guys take debit?" I asked.
Barber stops.
Looks at me.
Says, "No ATM. Cash only."
I look at my mom.
"Mom," I said, "...Do you have cash?"
*record scratch*
If that wasn't the perfect storm of humiliation, I don't know what is.
Did I mention I'm 24-years-old?
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