I found this on a friends blog and fell in love with it:

"Being Irish, I have an abiding sense of tragedy which sustains me through temporary periods of joy." W.B. Yeats

Check it out, yo. I've been added on a compilation CD of live radio performances from the Silverfish in the Kitchen show.

It's a great indie Americana show on KZSC Santa Cruz, 88.1fm every Friday night from 7 - 8:30pm.

Check out the show & the CD!!!

I get comp tickets to many theater events in San Francisco. It's a nice job perk. It allows me to see shows that are absolute shit without putting out my hard earned dough. Lestat: The Musical is a perfect example of this. You'd think that at that level of theater, it might have something, at least one element, that shines. But somehow they managed to put together a show of complete such ineptitude and ineptitude . It was pretty much on par with a school halloween pageant. . . and my kid wasn't in it, so why the fuck was I sitting through it. Lord, I can't even believe I am taking the time to write about it, but I need the therapy. The trauma haunts me. God damn it, how I'd love to sit Elton John and Anne Rice down in the basement and slap them around for wasting my time.

Well Golly gosh. . . It's been quite a while since I've had some quality blog time. So much has been going on. Some pretty strange things. . . Let's start with day before yesterday: I've been househunting for the past month with a couple of folks. It's been a painfully slow process. We've looked at tons of places, but each place had something that, for lack of a better word, sucked. We were offered several places but we all agreed that we would not settle out of desperation. So we just looked at a place in Russian Hill at Broadway and Jones. I bid my soon to be roommates a fond farewell. They drove off and I began walking down the hill. All of a sudden these two Asian Gansta Dipshits jump me in BROAD DAYLIGHT!!!!! One of them tries to tackle me, which points out his utter lack of understanding in the field of physics. . . I'm 6 feet tall and weigh 190lbs. . . he was 5'9", 110lbs. What was going through his mind????? Maybe he wasn't trying to tackle me. Maybe he just wanted a piggy back ride? So I turn around to dance a jig on his jugular when I see his friend standing there with these freaky brass knuckles with 2 inch blades sticking out of either end of the fist. I found an image of the actually weapon: I realize both these guys are under 18 and SOOOOO on a head full of drugs. Their eyes and noses were all red and they are shaking nerviously. So even though I knew I could've put of a world of hurt on these guys, there was no way I was going to tangle with a junked up Asian Gansta Dipshit with a blade. Not worth it. So I give them all my cash (a whopping $10 bill) and my ATM card. I tell them I won't give them my wallet because it has nothing of use to them. . . just my ID, Frequent Flyer card and Safeway Club card. I take the contents of my wallet out to show them that nobody in their right mind would give my ass a credit card. I had my credit report on me for the househunting. . . I could of proved it to them. But they take everything anyway. Great. . . . I get to go stand in line and the DMV for hours on end to get a new ID. And what the hell are they going to do? Take advantage of my great discounts at Safeway? You monsters!!!!! Those are my buy-one-get-one-free yogurts!!!! Then run off up the hill towards North Beach. This is when these guys earned the title "Asian Gansta Dipshit." They leave with out looking through my Timbuktu bag, which had a digital camera, an ipod shuffle, a healthy sack of weed. . . and the leave with out taking my cell phone. I dial 911 and get picked up by a SF Police SUV within minutes. We start cruising for these guys. A call comes over the radio: "We got suspect number one!!!!" The cops yell out: "Put you seat belt on!!!!" We go fucking ripping through ChinaTown like a banshee with a bowel problem. We pop around the corner and see one of the guys running. One of the cops jumps out of the car, draws his gun, and takes off after him. They freaking pile drive his ass into the sidewalk and have me ID him. Then the second call rings out of the radio: "We got number two!!!!" Again, we are speeding through the streets of China Town into North Beach where we find a group of cops with the second Asian Gansta Dipshit in cuffs, next to all my ID cards and whatnot. They take them in and have me fill out forms and give my statement. 4 hours later I left with all my cards and my $10 bill. As it turns out the guys were both under 18 years old. If there weren't on drugs, I would say they had balls to pull a move like that on a beastly bearded dude in broad day light. . . but they were on drugs, so they have no balls and are, without a doubt Asian Gansta Dipshits. I salute you fuckers!!!!!! So that was day before yesterday. But yesterday was a nice change from getting mugged. . . I finally found a place in the Upper Haight, complete with roof access, biatch!!! And I found out that I got a part in a show that will be touring through Australia sometime during 2006. That's right, Ledbetter is going down under. Sweet. I'm gonna go ride some dingos and punch kangaroos. Prior to all this I've gone full-time at my job, which is why I've been MIA on the MySpace trip. I've actually got work to do now. Holy Shiite Muslim!!! It's cool, I'll work full-time for a spell and save up money. Soon I will be abroad. . . Australia first, then Europe. Belgium, here I come. And now, I am off to work. Peace out.

For those of you that actually read this and give a hoot. . . Here's a quick update on my life. I just returned from a tour/vacation to Seattle. The shows went well, the vacation went well, everything was going great. Then I found out a very close friend died in a motorcycle accident back in Colorado, so that sort of took the wind out of my sails. It got me thinking about the things that are precious to me. It got me thinking about where I want my life to go. It's got me thinking about growing up in certain areas and growing down in others. It's got me scroungin for plane ticket to be there for her memorial service. It's got me slowing down a bit, as to not miss out on the good things around me. It's got me minus two High School friends in a month and a half. And now I am back in San Francisco, still in shock. . .

Last night's show was a blast. I want to thank Jonah from the Jonah Kit for playing the opening set. Check his band out at www.myspace.com/thejonahkit The gig was at the always low-key Simple Pleasures Cafe in the Avenues near Ocean Beach. . . where the folks pay attention to your music in the most passive way possible. No one is really there to listen to music. They are studying, reading, talking with friends, but listen to you non-the-less. And if you are good, they give you a little finger snap or hand clap after you finish each song. But that's the crowd you get in a cafe. And, hey, those are folks that haven't heard you before. . . so it's all good. That's why you invite your friends. That's your captive audience. I had a dear friend who has heard my musical evolution over the past several years in the audience. She hadn't seen me play in a while. To hear her say: "Wow. I was genuinely entertained by you entire set. . . " That let me know I am ready to start up-ing the ante on this whole music thing. It was funny. As I was sitting around waiting around to play, I saw a cd from my old band in the Cafe's cd rack. It was an indie rock band called The Dont's - www.thedonts.com - in which I played the drums. It was a trip to think about what a different musical place I am in now compared to that era. I loved those guys to death, but I was so frustrated playing a rhythm instrument. I am all about melody and harmony, so I had to leave the band. But they moved on, got a new drummer, and fucking kick ass. If you ever have a chance to see The Dont's. . . . DO!!!!!!!! And now i go into the studio today to record my first solo EP. Very exciting. The journey continues. . . see yall out there.

With only 20 Calories per can, this drink gets a brother freaking spun beyond belief. More so than normal RockStar drinks with the sugar and higher calorie count. How is this possible? The rumors and theories abound. . . But my money is on the the "Liquid Crack" theory. The good people at RockStar, Inc have developed a new super stimulant. I call it"Liquid Crack." It is potent extract from the adrenal gland of the Arunachal macaque, an extremly rare monkey recently discovered in the Himalyas - http://internationalreporter.com/news/read.php?id=341 The only way to produce this "Liquid Crack" is to lock the monkey in a cage and play Alban Berg's German Opera, Wozzeck at deafing levels. No needles, no surgery, nothing fancy or scientific. Wozzeck or nothing. Upon playing this loud german opera, the monkey begins frantically sneezing out the "Liquid Crack." How do I know this? Call it a hunch. . . a woman's intuition. How do I have a woman's intuition? I stole it. Well I have an answer to the RockStar, Inc. Folks. I have an energy drink that will freaking kill all the incarnations of the energy drink. I call it PORNSTAR Energy Drink. I has triple the amount of all the crap in Red Bull - PLUS- double the amount of all the crap in RockStar -PLUS- all the caffine in Jolt Cola -PLUS- A shit load of Viagra. And, there is a condom attached to every can. I'm still working on a slogan. Perhaps something Red Bull's "It Gives You Wings" slogan. . . "PORNSTAR: It gives you the jitters and wood. . . whether you want it or not." I am also working on PORNSTAR Chewing Gum. Although, at this point it's just Viagra, coffee grounds, and nicarette gum.

God Bless the IRS. Seriously. Where would we be without them? The fine men and women keeping the Treasury full, we salute you. Once upon a time, you were thugs & goons sent to farms to break knee caps and eat babies. But no more. As bleak winter changes into spring, you've emerged from your mosbter cacoon a glorious butterfly. Now you are the shinning example of harmonious and gentle debt collection. When one calls the IRS, they reference what they call your "Account." Perhaps I am mistaken, but this seems odd. You have a cell phone account, a bank account, a trading account. . . things you sign up for. Things you want or need. But who has ever called up the IRS and said: "Hi there, I'd like to open up an account." "Great sir, I'd be happy to help you. Would you like a standard account? Or shall we add on the rape your paycheck and repossess your assets options?" Oh, the humanity. What a pickle. Why must a man hand over hard earned dollars knowing they will be spent on either of the following: A) Social security for homeless winos B) Bombs and bullets used to kill innocent iraqi people. C) To pay the salary of a president with the IQ and a sea cucumber. Wait, that's not fair to the sea cucumber. D) To pay the salary of a senator who is just going to turn around and spent the $$ on coke and strippers. If I wanted my money to go towards coke and strippers, Lord knows I would be part of the party. E) Afterschool programs. I hate afterschool programs. After school kids don't want to stay AT school. They want to be out playing and frolicking. You keep kids at school longer and they are more likely to go out and knock off a liqour store to revenge the injustice. I know what yall are thinking. You're thinking that my money isn't hard-earned. I sit around and fuck around on my space all day at work. To that I say, "Shut up, damn you. Don't burst my bubble." I, personally, would be much happier with handing over money to things I deemed fit. Like the National Endowment for the Arts, Diet Camps for the Midwest,or A device that scrambles cell phone signals in theaters, restaurants, and cafes. But life is not so. No, we all have "accounts" we did not sign up for that funnel moneys into the american empirical machine. Some may deem this blog "unpatriotic." To those, I say: "Begone. You have no power here!"

You know I get tons of spam e-mail at work. I also get/take tons of work time to write these little old blogs. That's why they are often short and sweet. Does that say something about my work ethic? Yes. It says I am such a freaking superstar I can write in my blog, get my shit done, and still have time for Torta (Mexican Sandwich for all you living in areas with taquerias. . . which sucks for you). But, back to spam-mail. I get tons of it. Thanks to a new worm going around I've been getting 40+ spam-mails overnight. . . all of them in german for some reason. Anywho, I got to thinking: If everything promised to me in these spam mails are true. . . I'd have access to any drug I wanted for pennies on the dollar, I'd be able to get a home-loan even though my credit is such that the bank-teller won't even lend me a pen, i'd have filthy-barely-legal "bum-sluts" having sex with farm animals in my living room, and, given the right combination of male enhancers, my penis would barely fit on the Bay Bridge. Lord, what an age we live in. But I recieved the strangest spam-mail of all time yesterday: SECRETS TO FIXING ANY DOG PROBLEM. WTF? Now dog trainers are chiming in on the spam market. Soon the homeless will catch on. . . which is fine by me. Honestly, I'd rather deal with homeless people begging for change through my inbox than on the street. It'd be easier on the nose.

Stir crazy. Cabin fever. Wander lust. Call it what you want, but I got it. The bug has bit HARD. I've been here in San Francisco too long. That's not a bad thing, mind you. There are far worse places to spend seven years. Like Los Angeles. Lord, I would rather shove salted bamboo shoots under my finger nails than live in LA. There is a hell on earth and it has two levels: LA & Bakersfield. I'm not sure which is worse. Ok, I'm being a bit limited in my scope here. Much like the micro-climates of San Francisco's weather there are little "hell pockets" through out this grand falloon of a country. Yuba City, CA. Ft. Lupton, CO. Most everything between San Francisco and New York, actually. No, San Francisco has treated me right. I rather enjoy this little bubble of obscene liberalism. It is home with a doubt. I love that the people of San Francisco have been written off by the rest of the country and, for the most part, left to our own devices. "Let those freaks sodomize each other on acid, while smoking pot & drinking in the streets, wrapped in burning American flags. They'll burn in hell!!!" Of course once gay marriages started happening the rest of the country got a hard-on to get involved with our little city. Oh no!!! Gays getting married. That's mockery of the entire institution of marriage. Oh, wait. So are most marriages. People get married for all sorts of stupid reasons. Getting knocked up, Green Cards, money, went to Vegas and it seemed like the thing to do, politics. Heaven forbid two folks of the same sex bring LOVE back to the institution of marriage. . . And the USA thinks to itself: "Why can't those faggots keep it in the closet. . . Like most of the republican's in public office." As much as I love this pocket here in San Francisco, I feel like I need to leave. There's much to been seen in this world and the clock is ticking. Damn, that sounds too much like a woman in a mid-life crisis yearning for a baby. Wait a minute. Perhaps I am going through a quarter-life crisis. I did just turn 25. . . Where, oh where, shall I wander?