SO MATURE AT 23.9999 YEARS OLD!

Speaking of tomorrow,
This is my last hour as
an average twenty three year old with exceptional hair.
In an hour, I will become
an average twenty four year old with exceptional hair.

Just wanted to say thanks everybody, it’s been a great time not actualizing my dreams to be a mega babe on the cover of Nylon with a S550 in the circular drive of my 1970’s mint-teal Palm Springs pad, but hey, you know, I feel like there is a lot of wisdom that comes with growing up.
Like I’m totally cool just aiming for thirty now.
That’s fine, thirty’s like the new twenty one or something, right?
I dunno, let’s just read the last Jen Aniston interview & subtract ten years to whatever “oh see middled aged isn’t old!” bullshit they try to pass off a good plastic surgeon as. By their logic, I’m like nine so I feel like I have my WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF ME ALL OVER AGAIN!

See, wisdom.
& I’ve got forty six minutes to go.

You know,
you improvise.
You adapt.
You overcome.

That shit comes with age.
I’m talking about
“getting” your dad’s favorite Clint Eastwood quotes, of course.

HEY EVERYBODY COME SEE HOW GOOD I LOOK ON THIS MAC CAM WITH MY SHITTY LIGHTING REFLECTING OFF MY RECORD!

And yes, that photo was totally on accident! LOL!
I was planning on smiling & holding the record up for some cheese
but you know when you like,
miscalculate the three seconds Photobooth gives you?
I dunno sometimes it’s just the shit you think you fucked up
that ends up making your good side actually look good at 2am.

And yeah, I know,
BLAH BLAH BLAH I THOUGHT WE ALREADY WENT OVER THIS!
GIRLS IS SO LAST YEAR! SNOBS WILL PIG NOSE YOU! BLAH!

Which under any other circumstances would have been true except I’m basically the only music blog aficionado left to say pretentious things (which, I WOULD! HAAAA). This also means that everyone I would have wanted to impress with the HEAT(!) I was planning on taking last night wasn’t around either and I definitely didn’t want to waste that shit on two-bit architects & scary Asian dudes.

I just don’t need to show off to two-bit architects & scary Asian dudes!!!
They’re going to interrupt my convos with
“WHAT DO YOU DO”z all night anyway
and have their minds blown when I tell them
I am actually an engineer for NASA, NOT a model.

So, it’s like, whatever.
I don’t need a bomb LP to know I’ve got that shit in the bag.

YOU READY FOR THIS?!

OKAY.

OMGOMGOMGOMGODGODGOD!

So, yeah, official.
McG is going to Texas and it makes sense.
It does, like on the real, I was mega surprised he wasn’t going since he is a huge part of life across the country, probz the globe.
I mean, it’s hard to find a good parallel
but I feel like McG’s the Wayne Chopra of music blogs.
And now,
Julian Lynch and myself are the only prolific members of the current movement not at SXSW.

So, yeah.
THAT happened.

Sorry about that.
Blowing your minds and shit.

& sorry McG.
Blowing your cover and shit.
Oops? <3oxoxoxo

#FutureEntertainmentTonightCorrespondentsUnited

But you know what?
Fuck your festival.
Why?
CAUSE I’VE GOT MY OWN.
IT’S CALLED
THE DAY OF MY BIRTH.
BITCHES.

And you know what?
Everyone who isn’t at SXSW is going to be there.
Like, seriously.

PARTY CITY EXCLUSIVE.

Okay, I’m gonna be real.
Not sure if the Lisa Frank crew is going to show up entirely.
YOU WIN SOME, YOU LOSE SOME.
Personally, I don’t give a shit if those penguins don’t come.
It’s like, look, I’m a hugger but I’m not an awkward embracer.

So, I just don’t feel like blogging. I have nothing good to say aside from HAY HAY HAY MY BIRTHDAY IS IN FOUR DAYS & I’M LIKE, REEVALUATING MY LIFE!

If not, it’s cool cause like six months ago
I wouldn’t have guessed that either
but, you know, people like grow up & evolve & shit.

ANYYYWAYYY,
this post is not about beer or pop music (unfortunately right?!).
This post is about the protesters (okay, I don’t know if they are “protesters” but they have signs & there are like five of them) that are on the corner of Echo Park & Sunset every Friday. They have been there every Friday since like FOREVER & I mean, it’s way cool.
Yeah, we want money for schools instead of bombs
& we totally want jobs instead of wars
& like wellfare…
wait, I mean health care
instead of…
Okay, sorry, I don’t remember what the last sign said.

BUT THE POINT IS
DUDE, WE KNOW.
We know shit sucks. You realize you’re talking to Echo Park, right? You realize that 80% of the people that live here are living off corn & pork rinds sold on street corners, yeah? You are preaching to the choir!!! I’m not trying to downplay how great it is you’re standing on a street corner standing up for shit you believe in, hell, I sure as hell don’t do that much for politics but what are you accomplishing in Echo Park? Yeah, you get like 50 honks from Mexicans. Are you surprised? We’re all musicians or construction workers, no shit we want universal health care.

I just feel like, why not go to West Hollywood where maybe someone will come by & not like just honk but throw a suitcase full of a million dollars out of their window since apparently people in LA live like people in Entourage.

I’ve never seen Entourage
but I feel like if I had an entourage,
I’d be wayyy more likely to throw a million dollars out my window.
Which seems wayyy more productive
than honks from immigrants & hipsters, ya know?

I dunno, maybe I just am on the beer train.
LOL IT’S SEVEN.
DAMN, I AM MORALLY BANKRUPT
yet so spiritually rich all at once.
PARADOXES YA’ALL.
MEANING OF LIFE RIGHT THUR!!!

PS. You’re welcome! <3

The Report is a very special thing. I first called it a publication but it’s much more than that. The Report takes some of the most brilliant people in the music industry today and combines them in a number of mediums, all delightfully packaged in a surprise-filled parcel right to your front door.

PLZ ADDRESS ALL MY MAIL THIS WAY FROM NOW ON KTHNX!
MARISS 'IS FUCKING PUMPED' A. ROSS!

I don’t want to give away too much of The Report, I would much rather see you smoke a bowl left over from a last night’s drunken flurry, sit back & dive in yourself. I want you to feel the pages. They feel real; thick & smooth against tirelessly typed finger tips. The rest is too personal. No, really, even that was a too intimate of a detail to be telling the world wide web. That’s what The Report feels like- something personal, something…

This is where I went to go put on the cassette tape it came with and I ended up breaking my tape deck on my stereo from eighth grade.

Well, probably for the best, let’s leave the music bloggers to lay the knowledge. Now I just get to spend the next couple hours attempting to fix the tape deck, somehow end up breaking it more, take a five to put my faith in the universe that this is all because I’m supposed to listen to the tape at a pivotal moment in Dudefriend’s car (cause that’s the only place I know plays tapes) and put my beer coozy to good use.

Yeah.
I got a coozy with my edition of The Report.
It’s a limited edition.
Did you know that New Jersey produces like,
90% of the world’s Eggplant?!

That shit’s for real.

ANNNYWAYYY,
support rad artists, awesome words & monster jams!

This feels like I’m looking into my future, you know, like in 2011 when I am gracing the desktops of people everywhere who are down to look at me every day, being all whimsical in nature as a symbol of technology with my fine balance of comedic value & uninhibited beauty.

Or the reality of it,
that I am the butt of a joke
someone left on their pals’ computers.

Which I’m totally cool with
given the people doing it have successful blogs.

As I sit here drinking a Tisdale Merlot because the local liquor was out of Cab and everything else was eight dollars (literally, there is no inbetween, either three or eight) it just reminds me of how much I used to have to settle on whatever was readily available when I was twenty. Whatever was possible always seemed like a good idea. I’ve got the money if you’ve got the time and hell, I’ve got Bright Eyes on vinyl so let’s make this shit happen.

These were the same years I had nights to trip out and free days to recover, recoiling from the horrors of my real life illuminated in the midst of a drug induced fog of clarity.

Funny how that works, how truths are revealed in times of insanity.

The moment you look over at your best friend & realize he gives you the same feeling as the globs of Vick’s Vapo-Rub smothered all over your nose. The four seconds between the moment you realized your best friend gave you the same feeling as Vick’s Vapo-Rub & finding out your boyfriend cheated on you with his friend’s mom. The hour John Lennon spends telling you you’re an asshole. The night you hugged him & he didn’t hug you back. The day you took him back & regretted it. The month you spent drinking whiskey & listening to Ryan Adams on repeat, letting your cursive become undecipherable. The year you spent trying to figure out what it all meant, all the beautiful things that crashed & burned on the carpet of the apartment your parents paid for.

Ah, nineteen.
It was like running through fields of daisies,

eating shit
& then getting hives.
Which is exactly what happened.

But I was like a hundred pounds sooooo
WHATEVZZZZZ RIGHT?!?!!
LOLLLLLZZZZZ

Yeah, kinda.