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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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Friday, March 26   >>


Way to ring in the Friday, The Rob:

...my blog.


One time I was invited to this super high-end music show/gala thing with a musician sorta-friend some months back.

I've known this guy for, like, 10 years. I've always known he was kind of a weirdo. He makes Rivers Cuomo seem sane. Just out-there kinda guy. He'll talk to you for minutes about using a toaster as an instrument, or why there should be a translation machine for baby talk. He's just...not present.

And I think that's his appeal. He's a terrible musician, but he plays with a lot of good intentions, so the authenticity of his weirdness plus his love for at least trying to play makes his music okay.

Anyway, fast forward to this gala event which was based around (I'll be honest) really pretentious noise/art-rock.

He offered me a ride. I took it. I love not driving places.

Upon arrival, I had a couple drinks. After all, I'm not driving. RELEASE THE FUCKIN' HOUNDS, RIGHT?!

Well, not so much. I had to keep my composure around all these downtown sweater-wearing round-eyeglasses-bearing NPR-sucking wannabe intellects.

Then the guy, who we'll call The Weirdo, tells me he needs to go to the bathroom.

And so I figured it'll be a minute so I approach a chair and ...WTF, The Weirdo is already out.

That ...was quick.

We make it into the venue and he needs to go to the bathroom. Again. He comes back in less than a minute.

"Man," I said, "You take the quickest pisses in the history of the fucking world, man."

He laughed.

When the show started, the lights got really dim and, I sweartagahd, I see The Weirdo sniffing his finger. And I know he didn't finger any bitches in the back, so that shit is straight-up The Sniffing Accountant from Seinfeld.

All of a sudden I feel like Jerry. A storm of Jew-y anxiety just explodes in my body.

He is driving me home.


And the whole night The Weirdo was trippin' out, just, like, swimming in the noise.

3 hours later, he definitely mellowed out. I was brought home in one piece.

I know that doesn't answer your question, The Rob, but if you want an answer, why don't you stop being a lazy prick and look online? Fuck, I'm not your personal ChaCha. Suck a pole. Peace.