So, yes.  I am back in Greenville, SC, aka G-Vegas.  It was a sincerely
treacherous trip across the country.  My Scion was weighed down in the
back, enough to tip the front upwards and convince all preceding
traffic that I had my high beams on, much to their borderline-murderous
chagrin.  Seriously thrillseekers, drop those bungee cords and
parachute packs an try driving through Texas with your brights lit.  I
had three people literally (and I don't use that word unless I mean it
literally) try to kill me in some backwards attempt at retribution. 
Because clearly, those who inconvenience your trip across El Paso to
the exit 55 Whattaburger deserve a shallow, fiery grave.  Mea culpa.

Anyhoo, my fate was not met on the I10, I20, nor the I85, and I am
indeed back in the clutches of the Ol' Sssaulth safe and sound.  I've
rented the most fantastic arts and crafts style house circa 1930, and
my living environment could not be more different from that cramped
ses-pool I vacated in West Hollywood a mere 2+1/2 weeks ago.  I've got
two whole rooms I've closed off completely, because I just don't know
what to do with them.  This joint is massive, not to mention corpse
quiet.  I can finally record in peace!  I've even got the most
marvelous broken piano in the foyer--it came with the place!  My back
yard is woods.  For like, two acres.  In terms of private existence,
I'm kind of in heaven. 

The downside is, the only friends I have in town so far are my
parents.  No complaints, my parents are great, active, deeply
interesting people.  But I'm sure anyone can understand how anxious I
am to expand my social sphere.  ANYONE CAN UNDERSTAND.  Great, active,
deeply interesting people!  But, still.  My parents, you know?  More
conflicts of interest than a David E. Kelley courtroom dramedy. 

At any rate, I'd like to take a moment to say that I love all you LA
folks.  I am particularly fascinated by how many of you, upon learning
of my rather abrupt departure plans, secretly admitted to your own
explicit escape fantasies in the close quarters of Fubar and/or the
Internet.  I won't "out" you here, but you know who you are--you
dreamers, like me, that are so deflated and demoralized by the very
dream you feel should be sustaining you.  I know!  And I love you for
indulging me as I erected my swollen middle finger to the gods of
expectation.  I hope you can carry on, or perhaps follow suit--whatever
you need to do to make things real for yourself NOW.  I can't dictate,
I can only applaud. 

I have never been a success story.  I probably will never be very
important.  But I continue to do what I feel must be done, and for that
I am proud.  I've lived 30 years so far without any regrets, and that's
something rather significant.

Within the month of February, you can look forward to a song solely
recorded with organic instruments.  No synths.  It's the first time
I've ever tried that!

It's also the first time I've ever tried this.  So, bare with me.