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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, April 23   >>


In my lifetime, I have met 11 people named Jeff Jarvis.

I don't know what's so popular about this name. I think it's coincidence. Yeah, probably coincidence.

But 11? 2, plausible. 3, wow, that's pretty crazy. 11, though? My god, you'd think it's a sign that I turn gay and marry a Jeff Jarvis. Are you there, Jeff Jarvis? It's me, gay.

The most interesting Jeff Jarvis I met was a jazz instructor. He HATED my playing. In fact, I think he just hated me. The irony is that he sucked on his instrument. Maybe I just hated his playing for the fact he hated mine.


Hospitals suck. Went twice this week, going again later for The Girlfriend's grandmother who's not rocking it too hard these days.

I do wonder, though, why hospitals don't make an effort to make the waiting rooms a little more comfortable. Or why hospitals don't have on-site counseling to help grieving family and friends.

Maybe they do in other hospitals, where the toilets take your shit and dip them in gold. I don't know.

Working in a hospital has to be one of the hardest jobs in the world. I'm sure everyone thinks, "Why the fuck are these two nurses laughing? My uncle is dying right now," but, without them laughing at whatever stupid joke they have between themselves, there's no sanity in their day-to-day, and without that sanity, there's really shitty quality in care.

"DON'T CHARGE YOUR PHONE IN HERE," said the waiting room security guard.

Okay. Sorry.