Helloooo out there... So, for those of you who don't know, my record label has recently released our 4th album a compilation project called "Digital Bliss Volume 2" that features women in electronic music. This album KICKS BUTT!! And we have been doing some touring to promote DB2 as well as working to raise $$ for NextAid, which is a very effective non-profit organization that works to raise money for Aids awareness projcts in Africa. We have already raised $600 in our first gig in San Francisco  in October and are aiming to do the same in Los angeles this upcoming November 1st at the Zanzibar in Santa Monica.

Northern Nevada, windswept sage scent after the rain, dust storms and strip malls and neon light temple idoltry and progress sweeping forlorn across the burnt burgandy horizon. Northern Nevada, tumbling blue sapphire desert river…salvation for the lonesome seed lying dormant, hidden beneath the parched ocre soil. The patient earth listens to the rumble of semis along the Interstate 80, listens to tractors hum, slowly pulling the sand into squares of farmland patchwork and suburban track housing sprawl. Days of winter chill in the biggest little city in the world, in a bar, by the train tracks in downtown Reno, a rock-a-billy band called the “Trainwrecks” play twangy, tattooed, lovesick country ballads to a cloudy room of twenty something 9 to 5ers desert suburb born, bred and never fled refugees… Oh fateful night, night of nervous words familiar, drunken spark and tremors…Oh, glorious night, night of black and red, night of recognition, night of thaw, the night I was to fall in love. Northern Nevada, mad, desperate longing, sinking ship, nervous first kiss on that desert river, trembling lips, frozen fingertips search loose material for warmth, draw the warmth near chilly in April the snow still melting away into early spring soil. Days evolve to dry summer Summer heat your broke down van, small boxey bedroom, art gallery, tapestries, stained glass, stone eye green leaf synthesis. Northern Nevada, we wound up and down bumpy dirt roads on the way to your secret desert lakes with Zeny, your tall lanky Russian space cadet friend with no job or money, drink beer in the sand, catch frogs, stare off into space for hours to forget about strip malls and shaky family relations, SUVs, currupt government and the huge never ending complex world. We curl up at night in the back of your van with bones and feathers on the dashboard, little pieces of hope that make you feel connected to the increasingly urbanized earth. We hold on to each other neath bits of broken sky, the stars – a ladder, our love – a temple. We make offerings of song and laughter and tears, we offer up to the Gods you spent your childhood fearing… Northern Nevada and a campfire and a trail of smoke and words – we play with fire…all these colored words are for you, every song - at the end of the day - I long only to meet your darkened eyes and to lay in comfort and warmth. With the lake lapping over the shore and the owls hooting from the branches of your secret willow forest – I found the meaning of your love. In the eternal flashing of a neon sign, in decadence and loss of innocence, I found love. In 10 months in Northern Nevada, Sunday morning orgasms, dew on the moon, desert hot springs a river of sunken jewels and scaley beasts…I found your love.

October leaves are turning crimson and orange and for the first time in 6 months and it feels like the first rains of fall are finally about to hit Los Angeles...Thick fog makes its way up the canyon from the ocean as we wind up the narrow, twisting mountain road...The conversations between three friends driving home this evening revolve around: "living simply" v.s. getting wrapped up in vanity and consumerism in our reckless, detached society, the desire to feel like we are helping others rather than just serving ourselves, longings to travel to broaden our views of the cultures of the world and Megan's everlasting boyfriend problems... We are coming from the local open air shopping plaza in santa Monica - a 3 block streach of fancy shops with flashy neon lights and restaurants and bars habitated by tourists, teenage gutter punks, stranded homeless people, funky street musicians, jugglers, pan handlers and various hip hop culture flora and fauna...We have just seen the new film "the Motorcycle diaries" depicting Che Guevara and his amorous and outspoken best friend, as recent medical college graduates, travelling through South America. The movie followed their fantastic stories as they were documented in letters to his mother and entries in his journal - here is where he met all the displaced farmers, exploited mine workers and landless peasants who seemingly had sparked his interest in community organizing and communism. This film had so much heart and good humour, it breaths with passion, color and is an inspirational look at this heretic's life before he went to Cuba - We gave it 3 thumbs "way" up.

Wednesday evening in Topanga Canyon, Los Angeles. Amongst the sounds of crickets, roommates upstairs footsteps and passing airplanes I sit in my tiny home recording studio "Nook studios". The Boyfriends asleep and the computer with all the music programs is crashed untill my friend Ori comes and performs his MAC shamanism - which makes for one dull evening at home...so tonight I Blog. Blog blog. I drove the 40 minutes to Burbank this evening to record music (for free) at a really nice recording studio, this deal is through a friend from my work who is taking engineering classes and gets "Practice time" to record personal or friends projects. The evening consisted of 2 hours of me and my wacky, new agey, British pal Ellen (who really want's to be a record producer) trying to get a signal to flow through a "Trident" mixer, a neve pre-amp and into a Pro Tools session...we wasted a lot of time figuring this process out and then proceeded to record me on a grand piano - which was grand...After our alloted 3 hours was up, we went to a nearby Thai Restaurant: Sandwiched clostrophobicaly in between a 7-11 and a Little Ceaser's at a corner strip mall in Van Nuys is Mikala's Thai with a neon sign flasing "open till midnight". Ellen and I, our belly's rumbling with hunger, commence to sit down and order drinks from a cherubic looking overweight thai teenager. Despite the claims of "the best thai in town" there is only 1 couple sitting at a table in the far end of the restaurant and they're both staring at the television above the bar. I glance up to see what they're watching and it's called "Extreme Make-over", one of these awful reality TV shows that are so depressingly popular right now, there is a girl in her 20's being interviewed with bandages over her nose and neck. The hosts look like they've all had plastic surgery as well. Ellen looks over at me and says something to the effect of "I can't stand tv anymore - it depresses me" and I agreed as we both tried to avert our eyes from the two televisions cleverly and strategically placed around the restaurant so people could dine there and NOT have to talk to each other. Our conversation progressed from television culture consumerism to her love life to recording techniques to healing my "chackras" (before ellen wanted to be a Record Producer she was a reiki practicioner) . I don't know this lady really well, but she is really funny and I am getting a kick out of her take on life and how randomly our conversation is turning from topics like "Crushes on sound engineers" to "guided meditiations" with a Tibetion Buddist Monk! So funny the people we are randomly and temporarily swirled together with throughout our lives, it makes me think of a quote on a piece of art a friend once gave me "Many a life passes you by only to see your own more clearly" . Celeste Lear