Julia helped me move into my new one-bedroom studio pad today. We borrowed Tommy’s van to load all my stuff into the trailer.

Now I will be walking distance to the University (R.I.P. UNM, 2004) and good places to eat, other than Dominos and Blake’s lotaburger.

I will miss Jake and Monty, and easy access to rocking a DW drum kit and bass cab in the garage, but at least this way I can be a straight shot away from my band’s practice space anyway.

Also, Kyle and Casey from Flood The Sun just moved into the practice space next to Coma’s.

A little over 2 weeks ago I got a new job working as a production assistant. I’m working in the production office for a TV pilot shooting in Santa Fe. Wikipedia describes my job perfectly.

The production company put me up in a cozy hotel. I like it. The best part is how there are  spinach-eggs and green-chili eggs rotated as breakfast. Every. Single. Morning.

A lady named Flower hooked me up with the position because I had started a job with her last summer on a movie that went under within 3 days.

Before that, Josh and I were on a pretty big roll on some video projects, one of them including this commercial we wrote and shot for Golden Pride.

I heard it was supposed to be on some cable networks, but so far I only know it’s been playing in ABQ at the huge sold out b-ball games.

Also, there were chances of a new band developing with Tommy, Danny, and Steve…???

Practice has been a little hard to execute ever since getting the new job, but I’m confident that kids will have their teeth knocked out when we finally make a show happen.

Coma was supposed to have band practice today. For whatever reason, practice was canceled, so Tommy and I talked about meeting up to jam anyway. Soon after the conversation, the outside temperature dropped 10 degrees, and it starting raining. So I said “Maybe we be jammin’ another day”.

Later, I got a call from Tommy urgently needing assistance because he slipped while chopping open some coconuts at his house. I collected gauze and other bandage material and drove over to his house.

The wound looked like a mouth had formed where his thumb meets his wrist, carrying a lazy expression of slightly parted lips. The mouth drooled red fluid, and by the time I got there it was mostly done drooling and spitting, so long as Tommy kept the mouth closed.

The whole thing was quite the bummer considering that if we had band practice or if I decided to jam, the coconut knife-slip never would have happened. Plus Tommy could have comfortably gone to yoga without any fears of wounds opening up during down-dogs and side-planks.

The story is that after 3 hours in the waiting room, the doctor finally began to look at the wound, tied a mask on to take a closer look, and blood shot straight out.

While Tommy was semi-irritated about the incident for short-term reasons, I’ve been thinking about the unfortunate location of the wound, and the eyes that will draw conclusions when seeing Tommy’s scar for the first time.

For about the last year, this is where I’ve been practicing with my mates. There are rows and rows of empty train cars, and we pay rent to play music in one of them.

It’s the weekend, so that means I’m back in Albuquerque for a couple of days. Today Tommy and I jammed; Tommy on drums, me on bass. I think it’s been about 6 months since he and I worked on some of my ideas. Sometimes I feel fresh and ready to rock. Other times, I realize I should have brought my allen wrench set, having left my bass in the freezing-cold train car for over a month. So, the entire jam session was laced with a lot of fret-buzz.

After that, we went to Noel’s grand opening for her make-up studio.  The majority of interaction involved sipping wine out of styrofoam cups and talking to parents about how making a living with music is dying unless you are somehow an artist who is independently marketing-inclined, or already at the brandable status of U2, Nine Inch Nails, or Radiohead.

I thought this article was fascinating about how the internet ruined music.

Today I went to band practice and Will didn’t show up. After an hour of Dustin, Tommy and I standing around in the dreadfully cold practice space, we parted ways.

I worked the Skinny Puppy show tonight at Sunshine Theater. I saw Will there, and talked about how mad I was that he didn’t show up to practice. Then we smiled a lot about I-don’t-know-what and I again remembered how hard it is to stay mad at Will.

While washing beer glasses during my barback duties, I sliced my finger on a broken glass in the sink. It wasn’t a bad slice or anything, but I found it strange that it didn’t stop bleeding for a good 5 hours. My band-aids refused to stay on, so it’s possible that somebody got a lip-full of blood among beer sips.