Archive by Author

I Lift the Weights so Gently, They Never Know How Strong I’m Getting


I like-like you guys.

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When People Say, “I’ll See You in Hell!” It’s Supposed To Be Insulting Or Threatening I Guess, But If I Got To Hell And Saw A Guy I Knew, I’d Probably Think, “Oh Nice! Maybe This Place Won’t Be So Bad. At Least I Know Mike.”


Los Angeles is such a great city. For only all of your money, you too can lease a pile of dog turds on which to rest your weary, bankrupt head.

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Are You There, Hernia? It’s Me, Margaret.


“Yeah, you’re way up there on the Owie Scale. I’m surprised you know about that. Did you attend medical school?”

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Zen and the Art of Hurting Yourself & Breaking Things


Tour vehicle maintenance is an important part of being a musician. Your car or van WILL break eventually, and when it does, you’ll need to be prepared to dive into its guts and perform the necessary surgeries. This column will in no way help with that.

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Set My Sleep Number to 666, So That the Second I Open My Eyes in the Morning, the Bed Catapults My Flailing Body Straight Into the White-Hot Heart of the Sun


I looked out the window again. The same dumb-ass trees were still there. I looked at the scotch in my backpack.

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Father John Misty: live at the El Rey Theater January 18th, 2015


Tillman, a consummate showman, cavorted his lithe frame across the platform throughout the night

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I Went To Twin Peaks, You Guys


I casually made my way down the concrete walkway that overlooks the falls, not, as some may contend, “running like a little boy who waited too long to pee”

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When God Closes a Door, He Opens a Window. When God Closes a Window, He Opens a Beer. This is “God Time.” God’s Pups are Yappin’.


This show was going to suck a Grocery Outlet bag full of cut-rate dicks well past their expiration date.

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What Idiot Called it ‘Staying Awake’ Instead of ‘Resisting a Rest’

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We stood a few feet apart, under the grim pallor of the gas station fluorescents, the dark wall of the Grapevine looming behind us. I tried to hand him the wad of money again. “I’m telling you man, you guys picked the wrong weekend to play Los Angeles. You’re gonna be sorry if you go […]

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You Can Have My Natalie Merchant Tapes When You Pry Them From My Warm, Loving Hands


You are about to build a fort, motherfucker—the only surety against the frigid pangs of despair that come sweeping across the Northern Valley every goddamn lonesome winter

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I Intend for My Music to be Earnest, but it is Oft Times Interpreted by Critics as Vern

The West Side in LA is a terrifying mystery to me.

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Mars Ain’t The Kind Of Place To Raise A Kid


The Satellite in Silverlake has a great bathroom for secret pre-show puking.

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