Today I received my new drivers' license in the mail. With the seal of California overlaid on my bangs, I look like one of those medieval depictions of Jesus with the 2-dimensional halo over his head. In the same envelope was the same organ donation registration form that you receive with every piece of correspondence from the DMV, but this time I noticed a rather ominous instruction: "Make sure your intention to save lives through organ and tissue donation becomes reality." In this post-Dirty Pretty Things world, I'm rather paranoid about my organs leaving me earlier than I intended--could that simple act of placing an adhesive pink dot on my driver's license hasten my evisceration?
Even if my body parts were harvested really soon, I doubt anyone would want them. When you're on a strict diet of croissants, popcorn, burgers and coffee, your internal organs tend to solidify and start to function improperly. My bladder, for example, doesn't process beans and milk like it used to. I'm becoming a one-man methane factory, another piece of evidence that I am approaching an early senescence, or at least that I am indeed a Rosenbloom.
If my life were divided into epochs, this last month would be the Prefixozoic. Almost every free moment I have is taken up with my duties as editor of Prefix LA Events, which is finally up and running, and fantastic. Design flaws aside, this site is something that I've always wanted in Los Angeles, a one-stop music site for information about EVERYTHING. It's like a searchable L.A. Weekly. Of course there's too much happening in the city to be totally comprehensive, and the indie crowd focus means that we ignore most jazz and classical venues, but with only two people doing all the data entry, we do a pretty damn good job. Please check out the site, forward the link prefixmag.com/events to all your L.A.-based friends, and visit often, as we update daily and have ticket giveaways weekly.
A while back I wrote my final review as a staff writer for Prefixmag, on Craig Wedren's Lapland. As you can tell from the review I felt a little lukewarm about the album. But I saw the guy live a few weeks ago, backed by a terrific Seattle band called The Dead Science (whose members contributed to the last couple Xiu Xiu albums), and the album's so-so songs came alive for me. Wedren, formerly of one of my favorite ever bands Shudder to Think, is one motherfucker of a singer. Listen to that Tarzan-like vibrato!
Since that last album review was published, I started writing paid reviews for Dailycd.com. On paper, a CD review site with a readership mostly drawn from boomers and new age types that subscribe to DailyOM.com seems like a horrid idea. But I gotta give the editors credit, they've picked some great albums (I just wrote a piece on fucking A LOVE SUPREME), and the site is pretty fantastically organized. All they need is some knowledgeable people to contribute on their community boards and they'll be all set. For whatever reason the policy is not to add bylines to any of the posted reviews, so just know that I wrote the Young Marble Giants review, whenever it's published.
From 9 to 5 I've been temping as the personal assistant to Rick Buehler (no relation to Ferris), VP of Sales for the Visual Entertainment division of the Universal Music and Video Distribution conglomerate. Substantively, there's really nothing to this job--my days are filled with Powerpoint presentations, answering phones, copying, making reports, typing e-mails, making travel arrangements and ordering food--but damn if I haven't learned a lot about prioritizing and what it's like to be an executive. Compared to the other temps that UMVD hires when my workmates are gone, I'm basically a permanent employee already. They trust me and give me important responsibilities. I wish I gave a shit about the horrible crap DVDs that they produce, because I think I could be happy in that environment. Soon I'll move on though. Gotta look out for number one.