Stop Liking What I Don't Like!!!

For the first time in decades, I actually ended up getting into a popular television show. I'm usually about 5-6 years behind on the cool television shows, and honestly don't spend all that much time watching...well, "live" television, anyway. *self-satisfied sniff. joking. i'm joking.*

There's been many, many series I caught up on and appreciated later. Sex and the City, for one. Star Trek is another.

Now that everyone has access to everyone's thoughts and feelings and musings at every given second, it's basically just not okay to express any feelings, ever. Oh, but please don't be shy! BE YOURSELF. However, don't offend anybody. Yet, beeeeee yourself! Hey, you're awesome! Hey, you're an idiot. You're BEAUTIFUL. You're ugly as shit. No, but please...speak your mind! OH BUT I'M HURT BY WHAT YOU SAID!!!!

I honestly don't believe we, as human beings, are meant to process this strange, extreme state of constant info/opnion bombardment we've found ourselves in.

It's a good thing, to some extent, to live in such a critically-thinking world, but come off it with the passive-aggressive attacks towards people who might have enjoyed [breakingbad]. No, I apologize, I don't muse about what's going on in the government on the social media Interwebz. I don't post mushy shit about my family or my boobs or my stuffed monkey every second (although those are all wonderfully criticized, too).  Do we need yet another voice out there harping and lolly-gaggin' about shit that folks are already harping and lolly-gaggin' about in your blue and white daily scroll?

No, not really. Now I am a hypocrite. But we all freakin' are.

Thing is, if I, or Peter, or perhaps a little overly-excited Sally happened to fully enjoy the Breaking Bad series, and possibly made a comment or two (or a silly Bitstrip...oh yeah, but those are stupid, too...no, but they're HILARIOUS!) - get off our dicks about it. Get off a few dicks and perhaps focus on getting off your own, or your husband's, for the love of gawd.

It was one of those refreshing instances in where it was a complete sleeper that ended up becoming popular and widely-acclaimed because it...get this...1) actually lived up to the hype the whole way through, 2) had legitamtely great writing, 3) had really fantastic, talented, gifted acting and 4) hello, power-pop/unsung musical hero community - "Baby Blue" by Badfinger is now on the charts again thanks to this stupid show.

This was a soul-gripping adventure the entire way through. I'm probably wrong, but I believe it started around 2008 or so. I would propose a non-educated guess that 89% of folks weren't really aware of it until it was available streaming on Netflix. And guess what? We bit. And we enjoyed it. So, fuck us. Fuck us for liking something POPULAR!!!1one! for one goddamn instance in our lives.

That doesn't mean that I'm blinding myself to all the shit going on in this ridiculous, fucked-out world. If I don't post about all of my musings and political thoughts on the Information Super Highwayz, well, shit...I'm just another sheep like the rest of them, I guess. Please, please, PLEASE. Judge me entirely on what I post on the Facebagz.

So, seriously, guys - get off each other's dicks for a second. People are into what they're into. Leave it be. Some people are all about their pets. Some are all about their family. Some are all about pink elephants and circuses and midgets and really weird, fucked-up pornography. Some are all about cats in 80's sunglasses floating through space. Some are really, really, really into Alex Lifeson or pissing on Obama toilet seats in their spare time. People are weird.

Perhaps I might be better off exploding at some random person because they posted picture #45,285 of their cat, or child, or new home, or new car, or new wife. Or new commuter mug.

There's two groups of folks that have driven me insane with this whole thing. The "OMGZ NO SPOILERZZZZ!!!" folks who apparently don't know how to avert their eyeballs away from text on a screen. I get it, I'm always way behind on everything. I just don't look at the stuff. Why is that difficult?

And finally, the "OMGZ SHUT UP ABOUT BREAKING BAD UR SO STOOPIDZ!!!11" camp.

Shut up about your shutting up, to which I will say shut up to my ranting, and will tell myself to shut up. I encourage everyone to think this way.

It was just very, very refreshing to have an authentically well-crafted artform to escape and look forward to. Thus, I will ask again.

Get off our genital regions, because you're on them in a harsh, annoying way, about something we might have found ourselves enjoying. Because you post about shit that you enjoy - and, fuck - how DARE you enjoy ANYTHING in life?! Who do you think you are?!?!

Thank you.

Sexy Turtles?

I follow the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van on facebook. It's pretty groovy. Not sure if it's a modified VW bus or what. I haven't been nerdy or motivated enough to research the specifics, but it's one of those things that makes you wonder why the world is still so fucked-out and messed up when something as bodacious as this exists in it.

Then there's the sexified ninja turtle scheme that's crept up over the last few years. With all my sexual deviancy and weirdness, there's something about cosplay that still creeps me the hell out, and I know that's going to make me sound ridiculously uptight.

I love looking at super-hot women just like anyone else who finally gets over being insecure, or someone who used to literally feel like a knife was being plummeted through my heart whenever I saw a body I perceived as "better" than mine. Oh, are those my issues? I'm sorry, I'll save those thoughts for therapy.

But yes, women turn me on, as should be the case with anyone with a pulse. But the ninja turtle thing is throwing my girl-boner off. Is it having random flashbacks of watching the cartoon on a Saturday morning in the 80's whilst munching on Mario vs. Zelda Nintendo bitchin'-kick-ass cereal? A random thought of the weird Baxter fly guy and how you used to totally think he had an intense child-molester vibe?

Or maybe it's this now-tramatic-to-look-at photo, when I obviously thought it was pretty BAD. FUCKIN'. ASS. At the time.

I obviously ponder very important, timely issues...the gears are churnin' here. Woman superheroes work perfect in the I'm-A-Woman-And-Will-Dress-Like-A-Slut-This-One-Day-Out-Of-The-Year Halloween realm. Wonder Woman, She-Ra. She-Hulk!

She-Hulk was my SUPERHERO JAM. Her comics were amazing. Shut up.

Well, as my grandfather used to say, I do believe it's as simple a formula as the Male Superhero not translating to the Woman Halloween Slut.

Yeah. So boning a girl dressed like a ninja turtle would be weird. I guess if she was hot enough, or you were drunk enough, or both, it wouldn't matter. What if she was dressed like a slutty Aquaman, though?

Halloween used to be a really big deal to me, and it still kind of is, but in a way, every day's kinda/sorta like Halloween in the Robinson abode and/or in my brain. In addition, we've been taking our annual vacation at the end of October the last few years...since I got a job that actually allows me to take vacations. It's a perfect time to - it's generally good weather, like, everywhere. It's to celebrate our wedding anniversary. And by this time of the year I'm usually beat to a pulp by the daily grind (or, life in general, let's be honest) and am one step closer to being put in a home. So, it's necessary.

We always come back the day before Halloween, so typically we're exhausted and don't really get into the spirit that much. Forget driving the 30 miles to LA (finding less and less reasons to go out there as the years pass - but that's another rant for another time) - no, I'm not doing it. It's horrible enough to spend 4 hours going 30 miles - not gonna spend 6 hours to basically masturbate in a bucket with parade people and THE BROS. Oh, my god, the BROS. There's so many. I can't handle one more popped collar bonerhead bopping around for the sole purpose of putting his penis in a vagina that evening.

We usually just get drunk on wine, bust out the Theramin and joke how it's going to "scare the kids!!!" HAHAHAHAHAHA. YOU KNOW. It sounds scary and funny! TEE-HEE!!! Stupid musician humor. We're all such a bunch of nerdy twats, when you really think about it. Seriously, go watch like any instructional video out there, by anybody. Plus, kids don't give a shit about anything.

Oh, and we watch ridiculous Halloween classics, and give candy to the 2 children that stop by our door. Then inevitably I'll want something "headier" because I'm obviously such a high-functioning intellectual person, and want to watch Clockwork Orange or some documentary about the mistreatment of the elves that have to hand-paint ALL the letters on ALL the keyboards of ALL the computers but it's Halloween so it's all hot women being killed at summercamp.

And you know what, it's always the best evening ever, because it's spent with the absolute bitchin'-est love of my life.

See? I'm not completely dead inside! I still have feels. Even though I attempt to kill them all.

Until next time.

Because I'm 13...

Put your iPod on shuffle and join the fun. And judge. JUDGE away!

LIFE STORY: In Hell - Peppermint Creeps
Opening Credits: Let It Roll - Velvet Revolver
Waking Up: Say When - Backyard Babies
First Day: Hot Girls In Good Moods - Butch Walker
Falling In Love: Rosanna - Toto
Fight Song: Lazy Gun - JET
Breaking Up: Peace On Earth (Little Drummer Boy) - David Bowie & Bing Crosby
Life's OK: On A Shelf - Johnny Monaco
Getting Back Together: Daylight Goes To Town - UFO
Wedding: Tonight, Tonight - Smashing Pumpkins
Birth of Child: Your Sweet 666 - H.I.M.
Final Battle: I Go Astray - Jason Falkner

I can't even begin to tell you how amazing all of these are. This was fun. I miss these silly lil' time-wasters.

My birthday present to myself.

So, another birthday. 33. I like that number. It's like the record. Only I will probably be a bit more excited when I can say I'm 33 and a 1/3. If I had my druthers, I'd probably be totally content spending the day left alone, but those who love you make you go out and do stuff with them. Mama M. baked me a delicious pink cake and took me out to dinner at BJ's. She still thinks it's weird that I'm vegetarian. And I get it. Most vegetarians are criminally annoying. She called me today and immediately it was running the laps around: "I don't know what to make for you. You don't like chicken, you don't like beef...how about tuna? I can make a tuna salad." I said, "Lightbulbs, mother. Don't you know us hip vegetarians eat nothing but lightbulbs? There is NO OTHER WAY."

We went out for a nice dinner at BJ's and I was honestly really super excited that she took the time to bake me a cake. It was delicious and we had a really nice time. I scored a peace sign blanket, some self-tanner, violets, and some Pinot Noir. Perfecto!

I totally found this amazing piece of awesomesauce on eBay, as I was searching for a Dixie Dregs shirt with a red wine buzz. So I bought it for myself.

So, this dude (it's probably Steve Morse himself so I'm going to burn all my jazz-fusion bridges) has been selling the same Dixie Dregs shirts on eBay for $175. One hundred and seventy-five goddamn dollars. And it's been like, 3 years. At least, because that's about the amount of time I've been searching for cool DD shirts.

DUDE. Because I wisely pick and choose my important battles, I am suddenly finding issue with this. Either they're somehow moving and he's just printing up new ones, or he's been relisting these t-shirts on eBay for the last 3-4 years at this retarded price, and, oh-so-surprisingly, THEY AIN'T FREAKIN' SELLING, ASSHOLE. Maybe because you're selling them for A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY GODDAMN DOLLARS. Oy. This is SO something I'm going to complain and yell about when Jim and I record the next episode of Rants and Rabbitholes.

I can't figure out if this irks me at the same level, less, or more than the tuned-out bitches who leave 175 feet of space in between them and the car in front of them at a red light. These are the types of things that leave me shaking my fists towards the sky crying out, "WHYYYYY?!?!?!"

It's the important things, people.

As for the podcast, posting them isn't as easy as we thought. Recording them and getting into the flow of talking, no problemo! However, we secured the URL (www.rantsandrabbitholes.com) and should get the ball rolling on this as soon as we can. After that, it is our goal to record a new episode every 2 weeks.

Then you get to hear me screaming in crisp, clear audio about these asinine things. Yeah, I bet you can't wait!

In the last few months, Alarms After Dark successfully recorded a new 3-song EP entitled "Harm", made a hot drunk girl dance and exclaim that one of our songs gave her chills, and came full circle by playing more solidly as an actual band who has played together and grown together and created together over the last year at Old Towne Pub in Pasadena with Evertheory, a little after a year since we popped our gig cherry at the same venue with the same folks. So that is some good times. Oh, and having good things said from a motherforkin' LEGEND who you've looked up to all your life really doesn't hurt, either. Like, holy tapdancin' Jesus dancing on testicles kind of amazingness.

Oh, and I'm slowly growing more insane, and I'm more and more okay with it. Sorry, guys. 

Love you, you crunchy, lovely, sprinkly, crazy folks! Until the next rant. xoxo

Places That Envoke Raw Emotion :: The Brookdale Lodge

Back in 2005, JMR and I traveled up to northern California to attend our dear friend Buddha's wedding. His bride's family lived in Felton, CA, which is about 16 miles northwest of Santa Cruz, CA. This jaunt and wedding remain inside my memory banks as some of my fondest. This is also where we discovered the infamous Brookdale Lodge, which has been an object of obsession of mine for years.

Tonight I was Ultraweb-wondering and came across a pretty active Brookdale Lodge Facebook group, which has rekindled my ridiculous obsession with this place.

The wedding was held outside during fall. I remember being absolutely enthralled with the backyard of the bride's family. Their backyard extended out pretty far, complete with those gorgeous Santa Cruz redwoods adorned with hilarious psychedelic faces, and an extra large tortoise that enchanted guests as it wondered around the beautiful grounds.

I believe we played it safe and stayed at a Best Western or something, while the majority of the wedding party stayed at the Brookdale Lodge. JMR and I drove around a bit exploring the adorable town of Felton, and ended up dining at the Brookroom the night before the wedding. Complete with a legit river running through the dining hall, it was one of the most amazing experiences I'd ever had. Can't remember the food or what we had, but take a look at this:

I'm grateful we got to experience this at least once before the latest owners took it over and apparently tried to eradicate the some of the more paranormal aspects of this once amazing place, screwed up building codes, and essentially fucked it into the ground.

I don't know why the hell I have such intense interest in places such as these, like the Salton Sea, for example, that was once bustling and attracted the best of the best: James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, etc. The rather rapid decline is just fascinating and pulls at my heartstrings like a bitch.

Apparently thieves have managed to steal those bitchin', huge lanterns recently, as well, which breaks my heart.

Our last jaunt up to Santa Cruz last year definitely had to include a stop by this odd, haunted, historical place, and it was unfortunately not shocking to see the sad state of Nobody-Gives-A-Shit after obsessively reading any snippet of news and goings-on of the Brookdale Lodge. I got out and walked around for a bit, saw the garbage and rather rapid decay that was apparent. At least two cop cars circled around the place because things like this are basically shit for human parasites who will build meth labs and spread the scariest breeds of STD's around these parts.

According to the latest news, the Brookdale Lodge went on the market for about 7 mil, and is rumored to be selling for about 4 mil now. I really hope someone awesome with a genuine appreciation for this NoCal landmark purchases it and renovates it with the love and care it so desperately needs.

As a side note, I came across some pictures of old ticket stubs and the goddamn Insane Clown Posse played there back in 2000. Nice!

                                                                      * * *

Somewhat unrelated, but the day after tomorrow JMR and I are taking a little mini-vacay staying at the Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo for the first time and it's pretty ridiculous the level of excitement I have. I've stopped there a few times over the past few years, most recently returning back to Ventura County from San Jose with two of my closest gal pals after seeing Winger the night before. Which is I think the last time I attempt to mix certain things with alcohol. Yeah. Ever thought you melted into a large PA during a loud rock show with your body?

Anyhow, we intrigued and/or scared the crap out of the cute young waiter with our delirious, spirited banter discussing the weird, somewhat recent phenomenon of on-air news reporter strokes.

Anyhow, I shall retire as my hair must be properly did tomorrow afternoon. Thank you for reading, for listening, and for being fellow travelers. Safe travels, happy thoughts, creativity, inspiration, give lots of love, and don't ever be afraid to embrace and nurture your Weird.

Oh, and delightful journeys of self-appropriation as well.

xoxo

Who do you look like - if you had to compare yourself to a celebrity?

If Frank Kramer had a nickle for every time he's asked guests this question, well, you know the rest. It is the kind of question that awakens that little narcissistic butthole inside your brain once in a while, though. And it always bugged me because, much like every other level and arena in my life, it has been a far-too-wide-ranging disaster. 

 

Today I had a visit with a school whose Advisor tells me every time she sees me that I resemble Emily Blunt. I guess she's in some TV shows or something. I'm too lazy to Wikipedia right now.

This is interesting, as ever since I can remember, I say with all sincerity, I have always seen myself like this:

What say you? Whose a celebrity you've been compared to before?

Trader Joe's Sriracha Sauce - The Verdict

I must admit, I kind of prematurely ejaculated regarding my verdict on the Trader Joe's version of Sriracha sauce. However, I am female, and have not physically ejaculated, of course, there are some gals that apparently do, and that honestly just seems like a big ol' pain the ass. One party's few teaspoons or whatever is kind of enough, and I don't like changing my sheets every other day...oh, wait. I learned the exact amount! It's 10CC! The average liquid amount of semen that is ejaculated during a male orgasm, that is. I learned that fairly recently. By the way, 10CC is a totally wonderful, wonderful band. I just started getting into them.

Am I getting off track? Silly goose!

Anyhow, I am a ginormous Trader Joe's fan, have been for years, and as they continue evolving and developing new products, each added excuse to NOT have to go to the "BIG M" (BIG MARKET, MAAAAN! LIKE BIG PHARMA. THEY'RE ALL IN FOR IT FOR THE MONEY, MANNNNNN. NOW WE GOT MONSATO AND GMO'S ALL UP IN OUR ASSES, MANNNNN. AND WE'RE GONNA DIE, MANNNNN!") for specific things is A-OK in my book.

The first time I tried their version of The Sauce o' Cock, I must admit it was late in the evening, I had a bit of a red wine buzz going on, and I dumped it into tomato soup. From what I could discern, it tasted just like the original thing.

That dream all came crashing down on my today as I tried it for the second time on my uber-asshole-hippie-vegetarian lunch of tofu and lightly cooked vegetables. And you know what, man? It's sweeter. It's like...Worcestershire-esque. Mmph. I mean, it's edible and sort of enjoyable, but you really find yourself wishing you had the spicier, just...better...real thing. The Real Cock. The Cock rules.

Yes, I know The Cock has preservatives in it. I'll continue taking that risk as I smoke 3 packs a day and make a habit of doing shoulder rolls into very breakable glass houses.

I love first world problems. I'm sure you see me as stupid and weak. That's ok. I see you all as poop kaleidoscopes.

xoxo

Some Drivel :: Recording :: Nothing too exciting

A few observations.

April Fool's Day

 Days that are typically a tad annoying and/or stressful are made more annoying ten-fold with the advent of social media and the fact that almost every individual given an automatic soapbox platform. This past Election Day was horrific. I was traveling for work, on about 4 hours sleep, slightly hungover, and by 10am I wanted to drill nails into my eyeballs. All parties guilty.

This past April Fool's Day was a weird one. It really seems to anger a lot of folks, and I can understand. Almost every dumb chick will now do the "I'm pregnant! Tee-Hee!" or put up a picture of an ultrasound with no caption (not like I ever did that...oh, wait...) and unfortunately some practical jokers go way beyond the boundaries of good taste. However, the hand-wringing on this past one was particularly strange to me. It almost seemed to rival Valentine's Day as far as the outpouring of complaining and bitchiness on social media. Nobody really gets the chance to be original anymore since we all know and have access to everything. It's unfortunate, really, I enjoy a good practical joke every now and then. Another example of the retarded apples ruining it for the whole bunch, I guess.

So I announced that I was officially Justin Bieber's drummer, which I felt was timely, due to his recent outbursts in the media and my recent odd enjoyment of defending the kid, since it seems like every "real" musician thinks they're clever and hilarious dogging on him. Lo and behold, a few folks seemed to fall for it. That made me giggle.

In any event, I scream and talk and write until my face turns blue and am still largely misunderstood, so, I'm used to it.

More LA Driving Rants

Last night I made the 2-hour trek to my guitar player's house in downtown LA. 2 hours, for 39 miles, mind you, and this is "normal". I expected the worst, loaded up on recent podcasts, and headed down. The rush hour traffic and mind-fuck of parking down there was slightly traumatizing in and of itself, but the important thing is that I made it in a reasonable amount of time and miraculously found a place to park without being screamed at by a roided-out cocaine man in a windbreaker. 

However, the drive home was the first time I noticed that 98% of drivers on the road are either drunk, high, completely insane, retarded, or a fine combination of all four. I was looking forward to cruising on home on a relatively empty highway back home in about 40 minutes. Thankfully I made it back in about 40 minutes, but not without feeling I was going to get hit and/or die every 5 minutes.

I was going 80; in the lane next to the fast lane. I'm actually ok with the speed limit being raised to 75. Cars are made better now and going 80 doesn't feel anything like it used to be hitting 90 in your piece-of-shit 1982 Honda Civic where you were convinced the thing was going to violently shake apart.

However, 89% of folks on the road were doing about 90-95 and swerving, going in and out of lanes (totally unnecessary on a wide-open freeway). I almost got side-swiped about 5 times due to folks just not being able to drive in a straight goddamn line.

What the FUCK is going on here? We've got to fuck up was used to be the somewhat enjoyable wide-open drive home now, too? It's not enough that we rubber-neck and ass-rape folks in the daylight during rush hour?

Sure, back in "the day" (4-5 years ago), there'd be the occasional asshole drunk or dickhead driver. On a weekend. At 2am. Not in the middle of the week at freakin' midnight. And this wasn't the MAJORITY.

Oy vey, this is all making my mind deteriorate, I swear.

Recording This Weekend

Excited to go back into the torture chamber...I mean, recording studio, to record a 3-song EP of new material. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be adding on a 10" tom to my current Vikki Foxx-wannabe set-up of the basic 4-piece rock kit with horizontal cymbals. Still got to keep the ride cymbal in that majestic sweet spot though; I think I have the hardware that can facilitate this.

For the first time in forever, might actually burn some calories parking my car outside the garage and dicking around with various set-ups and tune prior to going in. All professional-like!

This is the first time I'll be able to finally use my bitchin' new Zildjian K Hybrid splash. I can think of a few places where that's going to work tastefully. I hope. Plus, Frankie's going to be working his Frankie magic, so I'm confident we'll come out with another pretty bitchin' product I can be proud of. I'm old, and this is my first time, like, releasing something that I'm actually really, really proud of. I can go on about the lads I'm blessed to play with but I don't want to give away how sensitive and sweet I truly can be. It'll tarnish my image. Heh. Yeah.

I might also go completely out of control and bring back my Dave Weckl Sabian China crash, but this bothers the brand-loyal OCD in me a bit. Might have to reel it in and draw the line there. I don't want another producer telling me it sounds equal to a guitar out of tune again. I might just lose my mind completely and I'm truly wondering who will take care of me in the "home" I'm destined to be shipped to someday...

Love you and thank you for reading, as always! xo

10 Albums of Awesomesauce and Importance

Gosh, it's been a while since I created a "Desert Island Disc" list of sorts...and after reading a few from some musical heroes lately, the inspiration came back. Plus, I'm working from home this week and have a little time this afternoon. Why not?

I know in my heart kinda what my 10 "go-to" albums are, but I want to include some updates as well as old favorites whose influence and inspiration never seem to wear off. Along with my oh-so-colorful (or idiotic, depending on who ye be...) commentary/anecdotes.

1. The Beatles : Revolver

I don't think there will ever come a time in my life where this one will be knocked off the #1 slot with me. From first hearing this album with baby ears - to hearing it in a brand-new life as I was coming of age as a teenager in high school - to enjoying/discovering the brilliant musical subtleties that I would almost get in physical fights with stupid drummer boys who I swore to Christ were told chanting "Ringo sucks!" magically like, made their dicks bigger or something - to the ever-evolving love affair I have with every single song to this day. Yeah, this ain't ever budging. Unless I get some weird brain disorder that completely changes my personality or something.

It's virtually impossible to pick out a favorite Beatle album, as I sincerely adore them all, but this has to take the cake as far as perfectly capturing a band in transition and supreme inspiration. Pure magic.

2. Rush : Permanent Waves

Between the ages of about 22-23 went through an INSANE obsession with Rush. Before then, I tended to avoid them due to the typical misconceptions about this band...you know, that they were "boring" and "pretentious" and "just made music to see how many notes they can fit in wherever". Plus, all the stupid boys who obsessively bagged on Ringo just seemed to jizz all over these three (ahh, but not before the proclaimed 'I'm-just-listening-to-jazz-and-classical-now' fucktwat decided to tell his disciples that they were something to be OVER!!! if you were to move on to become you know, a GOOD musician. PSSH!) and I just wasn't in the mood to "get it" yet. This was before, you know, those two worlds were allowed to exist. There was, and is, so many US VS. THEM musical fights that are just so fucking ridiculous. THRASH VS. GLAM!!! GLAM VS. GRUNGE!!!

The love of my life was a fan from way back but allowed me to embark on my own personal Rush journey with diligence and patience, and it was with this album that I heard the magic. At that point, I'd never heard rock drums played with such complex, beautiful precision. Everything sounded so clear and amazing. The recording was impeccable. The songs, the pictures of the guys in the studio. I can safely say I never was the same after hearing Natural Science for the first time. I didn't know music could, like, DO THAT.

I was hooked for life, became totally obsessed, then had to endure tons of mockery from indie boys I was hanging around with and making music with at the time because it was just too weird for a girl to be THAT obsessed with a prog-rock trio from Canada. Then the documentary came out a few years ago and showed the world these three aren't insufferable, pretentious assholes...rather, down-to-earth, lovely, personable, likeable Canadians who have made this unit work far better than half of American marriages. Prog on, Rush. Prog on.

3. Jellyfish : Spilt Milk

I will forever be indebted to one of my life BFF's, Brittany, for introducing me to the utter majestic amazingness of this band. Jellyfish fans are rabid and loyal...and if you're ever wondering why some folks seem so insane for this band after just two albums, all you have to do is either Spilt Milk or Bellybutton, the debut, a fair listen.

Back in the day, giving each other mix-tapes was an artful and personal way to communicate with each other and share what music was trippin' your trigger at that point in time. I dunno how many mix tapes I've made for friends, past loves, crushes...I still think, to this day, the reason why my husband and I ended up together was largely due to my remarkable skill and artful craft creating the world's most freaked-out-over mixtape in the history of mixtapes. Sure. Anyhow, "Sebrina, Paste & Plato" was the very first song on the tape. My parents picked me up from our first "band meeting" at Britt's parents house, and I put the tape in, and that's the first odd, poppy, perfect, zany, wonderful notes that caressed my ears. I went out first thing the next morning and picked up the cd. Perfect from beginning to end, gently easing you in with the first notes of "Hush" until the final melancholic, chaotic circus stomp of "Brighter Day".

It will probably never happen, unfortunately (or, fortunately, maybe...) but if a Jellyfish reunion ever did happen I think there would be a great number of power-pop die-hards that would literally suffer instant death because their heads and hearts would just explode. And I'm like, 22% serious.

4. The Chick Corea Elektric Band : To The Stars

One only needs to peruse this album's reviews on Amazon to wonder what I'm smoking including this in my list of beloved albums. For whatever reason, it's not really well-liked amongst the jazz/Corea community, and I'm not exactly sure why. Like enjoying any good John Travolta film, you kinda have to put the whole Scientology craziness aside and just enjoy the art that's presented for art's sake. However, Travolta generally doesn't shamelessly display Hubbard-esque fonts and book covers on his movie posters, so the album cover itself might, understandably, throw some people off. But fuck Hubbard. I'm buying a CCEB for pure musical Olympian-tasteful mayhem.

This was the first jazz/jazz-fusion album I could learn to love and appreciate and actually take things from musically all by my WIW' OWN SELF! It took 20-some-odd years, but I finally found the sound that my brain and musical soul were craving. Driving, intense, and, yes, absolute kick-ass heaviness mixed with the skill and delicateness good jazz delivers. I think it was more palatable for me back then, too, because the SONGS were all extremely coherent and, yes, catchy as hell. For a girl who grew up with strictly Beatles and Van Halen, and Caucasian 50's tunes, and the horrible kids' tunes I forced my family to endure (Snorks, anyone?) the brain had to adapt a bit to partake in the jazz. And I'm glad I did, because it's a genre that still seems to have all the integrity (well...Kenny G aside...although, Dave Mustaine just publicly sang his praises...shit, we might all be doomed) and is endlessly fascinating and inspiring.

Yes, I'm fully aware that Mahavishnu Orchestra did the same thing 30 years prior. Jesus Christ people, I'm not a dinosaur...yet!

5. Mr. Bungle : California

Why, yes, Virginia! You too can blend Beach Boys-esque pop with freaked-out circus-psilocybin-prog! And what a joyous discovery THAT was!

Most of us that grew up in the 80's and enjoyed the bounty that used to be MTV in the late eighties/early nineties were first introduced to the gorgeousness that is Mike Patton from the Faith No More "Epic" video. And how our generation just fell in LOVE with that masterpiece (and the animal-rights-girls with weird hair got all miffed about the poor fish at the end)! Lest be known Patton had astronomical levels of musical talent and bizarre-ness to offer the world, and lots of us first discovered, and might've even gotten a little freaked out, with Bungle.

Don't lie, you totally got scared and shit the bed when you were laying in your bed listening to what you THOUGHT was the fade-out to "Ma Meeshka Mow Skawz"...it happens to the best of us.

With California, Bungle dialed back JUSSST a touch of the weirdness in favor of a more laid-back, Brian Wilson vibe, and the balance and overall result was beautiful.

6. Pretty Boy Floyd : Leather Boyz With Electric Toyz

OK, this is where I'm beginning to snicker because I know this is going to lose, confuse, annoy, and probably give people big doses of Anger Things. "WHYYYY are you choosing this Z-level hair band drivel?!?! WHY NOT MOTLEY CRUE?!?!?!!!!@1111 WHY NOT POISON?!?!!111one!!!"

Hear me out. I am one of the, well, maybe 14, mmm, maybe 15 people on this planet who truly, 100% in their hearts, feel this is probably hands-down, the greatest sleaze-glam-rock album ever to be released. There's lots of problems, of course. Not only did they come out at the completely wrong time, but they were also on MCA, which was notorious for having a horrible track record with bands of the hard-rock genre. This was also when Poison and Cinderella were reeling the makeup and glam in favor of more bluesy-sounding albums in order to maintain in any sort of competition with the wide array of music that was coming out at the time. So, if you think about it, that monstrosity above was shamelessly released when the likes of Jane's Addiction, Chili Peppers, and Jesus Jones were coming out. (Oh, Jesus Jones wasn't a good example? I see.)

As far as the album, it is one of the rare ones I can listen to thousands of times and always get a sense of joy and an embarrassing desire to "Tell the boss goodbye, the teacher too!" as I begin my 48 hours of HOT ROCKIN' FREEDOM! And yes, every single song on here is ridiculously good. So, they might not have written it themselves and in typical Hollywood douchebag-sleaze-style, dicked him over...that's not necessarily my problem, because I'm too busy getting retarded levels of drunk on a Friday night reminiscing about the genius of "Your Mama Won't Know". And yes, I own this on vinyl. And the DVD. And have probably watched the "Heavy Metal Moms" episode of Geraldo one too many times.

Shame? Zero.

Dignity? None.

Any sort-of-kind-of-musical-street-cred? Gone. This is what I do for you people.

7. The Jelly Jam : Shall We Descend

I sort of feel like listing this right under Pretty Boy Floyd is the musical-nerd-blogger version of a rape shower.

Ok, so this is one of my more recent musical discoveries in where every note, every song, every lyric - resounded in me profoundly. If I had to describe what was going on in my brain, it was sort of like the slightly older dude who grew up with Pink Floyd and the Beatles, but also liked to jazz and prog the fuck out, and maaaaaybe wore a bit too many tie-dye shirts in his time, woke up the now older, wiser gal who was a bit more experienced and inspired her to take her drumming to as high of a level as a stupid girl rock drummer could.

So I'm describing something else entirely. It still fits. The level of musicality, tastefulness, beauty, melancholy, awareness of the goings-on of the world, and restraint is on unicorn-tripping-balls-level awesome.

8. MGMT - Congratulations

I don't know how I survived as long as I did without delving into the uber-psychedelic, visually-appealing indie-pop mastery that is MGMT. It was a weird way in how I decided to start listening to them too. The name intrigued me. Isn't that weird? Because it's truly not much of a name.

In between that and catching glimpses of their super-catchy, shamelessly OMG PSYCHEDELIA UP YO' ASS! videos and singles, it was when I finally saw the "It's Working" video in its' entirety the first time where I knew this was a band I needed to reckon with. It was so strange, so impeccably well-written, with tasty lil' hints of The Smiths and REM in their guitar work, I needed this album immediately. It has brought oodles of inspiration and mass amounts of joy. Unfortunately they seem to be falling victim of today's oh-so-fucked-out music industry, along with the mass-mob-negative-comment zombies on YouTube (THIS ISN'T "KIDS" THIS SUCKS!!!!1), and it's unclear whether or not they're going to be able to release another album again or tour. Shame, really. I recently had the opportunity to witness a full live show on YouTube and they absolutely deliver the goods live as well. Great musicians - great-looking frontman.

9.  Thin Lizzy : Jailbreak

I'm extremely, stupidly, ignorantly late on the Thin Lizzy parade. And this might be the most "obvious" album to choose, in which it is fine to scream at me. This is one of the first albums on vinyl I bought after my husband and I bought our first beloved record player to be loved and overused in our home (we're both musicians...well, he is, moreso than me. But then some other like, really, really amazing musicians call me a musician so I guess that makes me a musician. Right? He calls me a musician too, like without laughing, so...oh, here we go, in the circles of my head!)

Anyway, this was one of the first albums in our vinyl collection that grabbed me by my heart and loins and was like "WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG, YOU ASS?!?!" - It might've been Phil Lynott's ghost, now that I think about it. Well, thank you, Phil. I adore your music and your legacy and I'm sorry for not rockin' out to you sooner. It sure doesn't hurt that TL basically makes the coolest mother-fuggin' shirts ever. EVER.

10. Big Star : Third/Sister Lovers

It's so hard to pick a last one. There's so many inspirational nuggets and new releases out there I feel like I just can't get to them all. Maybe I'll make this a more regular exercise (wow, lucky you!!!)

I hope this redeems any tiny bit of indie "cred" I might've had. Listening to this album is like watching a beautiful madame begin to crack at the surface and begin her descent into madness. This is like the complete polar opposite of something like, I dunno, Dream Theater. There's no tightness, no real wankery or showing off. In fact, it's almost a bit straining to listen, because at any moment it sounds like it's all going to fall apart into a million pieces. And yep, you guessed it. That's precisely what makes this album so incredibly gorgeous. Every single song is an absolute masterpiece - at the risk of sounding trite - they really are all beautiful paintings.

With that being said, the song "Holocaust" can make me weep at any time, any day, good mood, bad mood, no matter how many gazillion times I've heard it. That's pretty powerful stuff.

The Shame and Abuse of Hell-Lay

Oh, the shame!

So, those of you that know me know that I travel quite a bit for my job. Very quickly I learned that when I introduce myself to others, I would have to follow up with an oh-so-clever, "Don't hold it against me!!! Yuk-Yuk! Tee-Hee!" because it seems the truth is pretty much every other state thinks of Los Angelinos as insane, narcissistic, self-centered, flaky, phony, etc. Most likely they're right. I suppose it holds some truth.

Am I mistaken to think, however, that this perception generally is aimed towards the LA transplants who come here to "make it"? The ones who come here with full intention of "making it", whatever industry that happens to be (usually entertainment)? Are those the folks that end up possibly overcompensating and are the stereotypical Ray-Ban-donning asshat on his laptop in the Starbucks loudly professing over the mobile that he's "WORKING ON A SCREENPLAY BRAH!!!!!" so all the patrons can hear and be impressed and the hot 19-year-old blonde will drop her Frappucino Lite and start giving him a blow job right then and there?

Did these folks ruin our reputation? Or is it the LA natives that are, indeed, the fucked up ones with personality disorders?

It's a weird town. Fuck, California's just a completely screwed-up state.

I was lucky enough to somehow end up in a relatively underground, yet bustling, fun "glam rock resurgence for the 19th time" and played in a lot of fun, over-the-top, glammy-punky bands between the years 2004-2007. I think that was around the last time I felt any sort of gratefulness for being born here. At least the Strip was still sort of alive. NOTHING compared to its' decadent heyday between the 70's and 80's, naturally, but at least there was still some sort of "scene". Some sense of rock n' roll community.

At least in the rock n' roll world, between the death of Traci Michaelz and the final nail on the coffin with the Cat Club and now Key Club closing their doors, I just don't seem to venture out anymore much at all unless there's a very specific show or artist that's playing. Even then, I get highly irritated with just the fact that I have to drive out there. Listen, I drive literally thousands of miles in all sorts of cities all over the West - Seattle, Portland, countless miles of rural road, desolate North Dakota roads in pitch black night, and none of them hold a candle to giving me the sort of epic-level anxiety attacks that LA/Hollywood blesses me with.

Seriously, last few times I've driven out in that direction I've almost had panic attacks. And this is after driving once in NY and (god help me) Boston. So what is it?

So all these negatives are stacked up. The automobile/traffic panic attacks, the $17 parking, the $10 glasses of wine, the overzealous, 'roided-out security guards that bark at you to EXCUSE ME MA'AM WHAT I'M GONNA HAVE YOU DO FOR ME RIGHT NOW IS MOVE TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE 18 times while trying to watch the maybe one interesting band that somehow managed to even play in our retarded city...it's just not tempting. Or enjoyable.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is that living in LA is much like being in an abusive relationship. It kind of goes like this:

Me: "Oooh, cool. Saigon Kick's playing at the Viper Room!"
LA: "No matter what time you leave your Ventura County home, I'm going to make damn sure traffic is as hellish and horrible as possible. And that it takes you at least 2 hours to drive 32 miles. Have fun with that, you stupid cunt."
Me: "This traffic is fucking horrible. Oh, my god, that person next to me is swerving whilst eating an apple and playing an oboe. I'm going to die. I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm still 14 hours away and I haven't even hit the 405 yet."
LA: "Here, I'm sorry. I'll give you a little break. Have the traffic clear up just a teeny-tiny bit so you can at least feel like you're moving."
Me: "Oh, goodie. Look. We're moving! We're moving! Allright, maybe it'll only take 12 hours to get to the goddamn Viper Room. How lucky I am to live here."

The next day:

LA: "Wake up, sunshine. Look at what I provided you with. Beautiful, clear, comfortable, 72-degree-weather. You are minutes away from the beach. The mountains. Hours away from snow. Hours away from the weird desolate desert shithole called the Salton Sea you seem to love so much, if you're so inclined. Enjoy."
Me: "Oh, thank you, thank you, LA. You're so pretty. We're so lucky. I don't have to experience -30 weather that makes both my tits shrivel up into gerbil brains 'cuz it's so ungodly cold! *pinches face* Who's my favorite wil' city-witty?"
LA: "When you come back from enjoying Zuma, don't forget your $56,259,209,134 mortgage bill for your 900 square foot condo is due. God, you're a stupid bitch. You're my bitch."

So, yeah. It's basically like that.

So, I continue to hold my head in shame whenever I have to tell people that I'm from LA. Is there any other city where those at least with a shred of shame/dignity/whatever have to be so apologetic for? I don't think so. Look at people from anywhere else.

Boston guy: "Boston is the fucking best, bro. Hometown pride, all the way. I want to fellate every member of the Red Sox and will be glad to spend 5 hours of your life telling you our city's history. Boston, bitch. YEAH!"

New York guy: "You Californians are the most retarded motherfuckers on the planet. You try to make pizza *snorts*! Every Sunday I hump the Empire State Building to completion and will never even attempt that Atkins crap because our magical water magically makes our bagels and pizza crust into the equivalent of being soothed and caressed by a pink unicorn that'll let you float on a mystical rainbow with it and shits red velvet cupcakes and hooks you up to a libation-of-your-choice drip and then seven 22-year-old chicks will stop by and delicately fondle your nipples and balls."

Kyle, South Dakota guy: "Bitch, we got BUFFALO out here and it's fucking magnificent and my 45-thousand acre ranch costs me $23 a month."

That's basically how it is.

I guess I can sum it up by asking this: Before we attempt to be sort of cool and let the bars stay open until 4am, it might be a good idea to try to execute some sort of semi-useable public transportation system.

Oh, and it's also one of the most difficult states to stay vegetarian in, and one of the most overall uptight. Funny, how we're supposed to be all...um..."progressive" and shit.

Hugziez!

xoxo

I shouldn't share anything. B-A-N-A-N-A-S!

I don't know if I've just been spending way too much time on the road just hanging out with me, myself and my brain, but I've been thinking a LOT lately. Although I appear as though I never think, I really, actually do.

I think a lot of folks think of me as some drunken, blubbering idiot who just plays drums and laughs for hours on end about Nelson videos and Grumpy Cat. And that's actually totally okay with me.

But I think too goddamn much. And this overloads my already limited brain capacity. Then I type too fast and overshare and say too many things on the ol' Facebook that I'm sure has made people roll their eyes, sigh heavily, experience hemorrhoidal issues, or have caused me to be BLOCKED!!!!!1onebl0ckk!!!11

Actually, the blonde's slowly coming back in, thank Christ, so perhaps that will give me some sort of leeway.

Anyway. What is going on? Why are we all going completely nuts?

I am definitely a child of the Ultrawebz/Information Super Highway - I mean - The Internet, and got online as far back as 1994 or so. Prodigy classic, bitches! Back before you could even create your own email, and you got a random pish-posh of numbers and letters. BKCF90B was my "handle". So I've definitely seen more than my share of trolling.

I went through a few attacks here and there on LiveJournal. Remember LiveJournal? The first opportunity to really overshare all our insignificant daily goings-on. But in paragraphs rather than Tweets or status updates.

I wrote some entry about how I was scared to death I was pregnant. At that time, I was 22, going through school, living at home, miserable, broke, and lost as a human being. Weren't we all, more or less? So of course I poured all my thoughts out. Not a lot of people read it - just close friends.

However, there was, naturally the one pussy "Anonymous" troll saying, "Get an ABORTION U ST00P1D CUNT OMG UR SO STUPID!!!"

This was also the time when I started wearing tin foil hats because I went to the Doctor to get the pregnancy test and I was FREAKING OUT because although I was a dumb-ass kid at the time, I was also smart enough to know that I was in NO shape, way, or form to be able to handle a child. So I was nervous and freaking out a bit at the results.

The Doc thought I was insane and out of line for being nervous and strongly advised I start taking antidepressants right there. Fuck you, cunt, with your Paxil pens and Paxil clipboards. And this insanity goes on today, even moreso. General Practitioners with ZERO training in mental health issues tossing out the antidepressants, right and left, after a 2 minute interaction. Awesome. I guess this is part of it.

With the childhood obesity epidemic, you don't ever hear anyone digging into the psychological underlyings of WHY these kids are using food to fill whatever's missing in their soul/heart/person. Nah, we just target McDonald's and crap, and spend countless hours coming up with a law to 24 oz. sodas but allow 16 oz. sodas. Or whatever the hell.

That kind of stuff was a treat when I was growing up. Hell, SODA was a freakin' treat growing up. McDonald's has been around forever - and you can argue the soda's are bigger and the Supersizing and all of that, but the point is, the menu hasn't changed too much since 1972.

I digress. A lot. And it's not my point.

<So what IS your point, ass hat?!>

Now we have a society that is based strongly on celebrity worship. We build them up and up and up and spend hours watching and reading about every single facet of their lives. Then we just giggle with GLEE when they act like a human being and fuck up. It's a lot like the primitive Aztec cultures where they'd build up their Gods and then celebrate by throwing them into fire.

So we're supposedly technologically advanced and this and that - yet, so many core behaviors are pretty much the same.

We put a hell of a lot of energy into things we supposedly hate. I see a lot of artists on here I respect yet spend SO much time and effort bashing other artists. Mostly successful ones, because they're an easy target. I'm not a Justin Bieber/Nickleback/whatever fan in the least, but I respect and admire their success. I don't think it makes one clever or stand out from the crowd to come up with yet another Nickleback joke. Fucking yawn. There's SO much amazing talent out there, spanning all genres, and sure, you have to burn some calories to discover it. So do that and fill your soul with awesome music instead of wringing your hands all over that singer's hair. Which I agree, is really, really, horrible, and sometimes I feel he's begging to be made fun of.

But that's beside the point.

I would bet money. GOOD money. That if we took a nation-wide Internet poll right now, Chris Dorner would come out ahead of Justin Bieber as far as someone being liked and/or respected. You know, we all love a vigilante killer who found it necessary to share his favorite films and how bummed he'd be missing out on the Hangover 3. And who killed all young people who had nothing to do with his narcissistic manifesto that spoke to the hearts and souls of those who've been shunned and screwed over from society. He wrapped them all around his finger.

So he's ok, no problemo, a "hero" to some...yet, I bet MONEY, and lots of money because as much as I love you Jews, I'm so not Jew-like with the green...that he would come on top over someone like Bieber. Or whoever's in the news this week throwing a punch at the dickheaded Paparazzi.

At this point, I'm sure you want me to shut up, get back behind the drums, and make retarded faces. And share Grumpy Cat. And that's ok, because I still somehow love all you assholes.