But the time has come for me to move on again.

I’m extremely excited to announce the next chapter in my life, a little venture I call Tiny Jetpack.  There will be much more detail to come, but for now just know that I’ve decided to use my 1337 social media skills in a bit of a different way.  (Ahem, and if you’re a band or brand that needs any help in that area, drop me a line.)

Wait, there’s more.  I’m moving to Nashville, Tennessee, with my beautiful girlfriend.

I’ll go on record here for a moment and say that I love a great many things about Los Angeles.  The diversity, the incredible food, a never-ending supply of live and recorded music, a rich history, and proximity to so many incredible things, among them the ocean and a plethora of national parks and monuments.  I moved to LA because of a vision I had for my own life, for the life I could be living.  I chased a television fantasy of the American Dream (and I’m openly admitting that).  I still believe that Los Angeles is the home of that Dream for a great many people, a place where you can find opportunity, culture, financial security, and more.  However, I now know I’m not one of those people.

I work in the music business, for better or for worse.  I love it.  It makes me feel complete in so many ways.  Even on my worst days, the most stressful and awful days, I still get to see photos of smiling fans online, and I know that I’ve done something right.  I know that I’ve helped, in some small way, to give back to fans, the way music once gave to me, and often still does.  But Los Angeles is too expensive, too hectic, too cutthroat for my tastes, and Nashville seems to be the opposite of all of those things.  The music business in the US is based in three cities, LA, NYC, and Nashville, and of the three Nashville is the place where I can see myself, and my beautiful girlfriend, thrive.

And so I’m leaving Hollywood for Dollywood, the Wiltern for the Ryman, Chucks for boots, Dodgers for Sounds, traffic for, um, no traffic.  And maybe I’ll eat a salad every now and then just for the nostalgia.  I love you LA, but we just weren’t meant for each other.

My grandfather once told me this story, I vividly remember, his old age having claimed his vision, and me sitting next to him trying desperately to sustain a vicious onslaught of bad breath and overgrown nosehairs (I can’t help it, I loved him, but that’s what I remember).  He sat me down, not more than 10 years old, and told me about a train full of butter.  Yep, butter.  Wait, you’ve heard this one?  Oh, well this butter was being sold at pennies on the dollar, and it just happened to right around World War II, when apparently butter was in pretty high demand.  He could have bought that butter, and sold it at his grocery store.  But he didn’t.  And he spent the rest of his life wishing he had.  Now I have no idea whether this story is true.  I can only imagine he’s probably not the only person to ever tell this story either.  And for that matter, I have no idea why anyone would want an entire train full of butter (except that its tasty and delicious).  But I’m taking his moral to heart.  Opportunity knocks, and it’s always better to regret something you have done than something you haven’t done.

Let the fun begin!  I’m staying at WBR until the end of the month, and Courtney and I (and three kitties) are heading out Route 66 on May 31.  It’s coming up fast, and we’d like to invite you along for the ride.  We’ll be blogging the whole way.

And finally, I’ll leave you with this little song, ‘Belt of Orion,’ by a band I’ve had the utmost pleasure to work with over this past year, The Belle Brigade.  For whatever reason, it seemed particularly poignant.

Rock on.

Frazzled and baking in the Panorama City sun, I whipped out my GPS to find the nearest Target store, where I was certain to find a slightly pricier, but better quality replacement. An hour later, I walked out of the Pacoima Target store, fancy tri-ax mountain bike in hand…. and fully assembled! Total price, after tax: 150 bucks.

Took her out for her maiden voyage, and came back happy. A nice couple miles, back and forth along the LA River Bikeway, and nary a problem. A slight adjustment to the deraileur was all it needed. I was pretty certain I had made a good purchase. So I took her home, anxious to make another ride the following weekend.

But just as before, one week later I had two flat tires, and no explanation.

I threw my hands up in the air (and waved them like I just didn’t care), and took the bike back to Target – though this time in West Hollywood, close to my house. Surely they’d take it back without any hassle.

Nope. Think again.

David, the extremely polite and friendly guest services rep informed me that they don’t take back bicycles, but that the Pacoima location where I bought it might have a better return policy. So I asked him to call the Pacoima location, which he did. They said no, they won’t return bikes either, but they’ll gladly make adjustments to any pieces that aren’t working. After informing him that you can’t really adjust a flat tire, he started towing the company line: no bike returns.

Only one problem here: I’m pretty good at reading, and the return policy doesn’t state anywhere that I can’t return this bicycle. See for yourself:

So David called over the assistant manager. A young guy named Henry, who clearly had worked his tuchas off to reach this exalted position, restated that they don’t return bikes, and that the return policy says so. “Oh really?” I say. “Please show me where.” Confused, but certain that he was correct, he asks me to wait while he goes and prints a copy of the return policy.

And there I stand, patiently, for about ten minutes. I took that opportunity to peruse the Target.com website on my Blackberry, where it clearly restates the return policy. Note: no mention of bicycles.

Ten minutes later, still throwing my hands up in the air and waving them like I seriously don’t care, Henry returns with his boss, a nice lady whose name I can’t recall, so I’ll just call her “The Manager.” Oh, and he brought this, a printed copy of the section in the Target return policy that says they don’t return bikes:

The Manager, who tells me she’s a biker as well, says that she understands how unhappy this probably makes me, but that the return policy clearly states “Other restrictions may apply.” So I ask for some clarification, to which she says she’ll go consult with some of “her peers” to determine some kind of remediation. Now I haven’t ever worked at a Target store, but if I’m not mistaken, The Manager doesn’t really have any peers, at least not any that could make a decision better than her. I could be wrong about this, but everything I know about corporate hierarchy tells me this is the case.

So there I sit, and wait some more. But as before, it turns out I can read! Not only that, but I know a thing or two about the intarnetwebz. You see, while I was perusing the Target site with my Blackberry, I couldn’t find any magical linkage to the “Other restrictions” section of the website. And as it turns out, there isn’t one. No really, go look for yourself. That page above isn’t available anywhere. Then I noticed that the URL was printed at the bottom: http://insidetgt.target.com

Sure enough, it’s on an intranet:

When The Manager returned, I pointed this out to her. I also pointed out that an alternate version of the return policy is not available anywhere in the store. I also pointed out that me, the customer, the person who just bought a bike at Target, would never be able to access any return policy that states that bicycles are not allowed to be returned. Knowing full well that she has no real way around this argument, she relented in giving me store credit.

Sigh.

I fully plan on making this known to Target corporate customer service, but for the time being, please take my advice when I say that buying a bike at Target is a poor idea. Not just because their bikes suck, but because their customer service is garbage, and their return policy is at best misleading and at worse fraudulent.

Oh, two fun sidenotes:
1. On seeing a guy about to purchase a bike, I informed him of what had just happened to me. It may not have changed his mind, but at least it made me feel better.
2. When I snapped that photo of the return policy with my phone, David, the pleasant customer service guy, freaked out. “Did you just take a picture of me??” he said. To which I responded: “No. Should I have?” I mean it when I say that he did a complete Jekyll & Hyde on me, his personality changed instantaneously when he realized I had the power to report him.

Moral of the story: the customer is always right, and if some asshole customer service people try to tell you otherwise, tell them where they can stick it.

Strangely enough, those little blips of free space aren’t always free either. Though I doubt I’ll ever get fully accustomed to my supermodel diet (aka the vending machine lunch).

[Note: this is cross-posted from another blog I write on. I've made a few changes here to make it audience-relevant]

I’ve made a lot of fuss lately about vinyl, mostly because I’ve been buying a lot of it, but also because the format is showing new life.  Vinyl sales in 2008 were up 147% over the previous year according to the RIAA, the only physical format to show any positive growth at all.  My reasons for buying vinyl are numerous, and I’m going to attempt to list them here.

1. I stopped buying CDs in 2002. I am not going to lie, I haven’t bought a new CD in 7 years. I won’t go too in-depth on the reasons for this, since it’s enough material for an entire book. The gist of it is that I became disillusioned and upset around that time, and just stopped. I’ve bought some used CDs, and I will sometimes by a CD directly from the artist, but I haven’t bought a new CD at retail in a long time.  And so I turned to vinyl.

2. I download a lot of music. I do this through a number of different channels. The options are many – from Amazon to iTunes to Lala to a variety of less legal methods. For the most part, this is still my preferred method of listening to music due to its accessibility, portability, and searchability.  Most, if not all, of the new music I discover is through digital channels and recommendation systems.  Because I download a lot of music, CDs have become less and less important to me, and vinyl has filled that void.

3. There is a lot of used vinyl out there. I’m lucky enough to live in a gigantic city with a few outstanding record stores, almost all of which sell used vinyl for cheap. There’s Amoeba Music, the undisputed heavyweight champion of independently owned stores. But there’s also The Record Surplus, a great little westside spot that has an incredible selection of classic vinyl. Typical used vinyl prices are less than 5 bucks a record, with many only a dollar or less. Rare vinyl is typically pricey, though I just snagged a couple of double-disc Prince original pressings in excellent condition for less than 10 bucks each.

4. It just sounds better. I’m not going to debate this. It’s not worth arguing, it’s a matter of taste. And I like the sound of vinyl better.

5. Vinyl is beautiful. It’s really hard to argue with the fact that album artwork looks better in a bigger format. I’ve yet to buy a record that I didn’t want to just stare at. And with vinyl packages starting to rival the CD deluxe boxes, you can get cool shit like colored/clear vinyl, crazy box sets, poster inserts, sleeve art, etc.

6. Some record companies are getting it right. I’m proud to work at a record company that ships more vinyl than any of the other major labels. But we screw a couple things up: no digital versions included with most of our records. There’s a subsidiary of my label, though, that gets it very, very right: Nonesuch is a former avant-garde label that has branched out significantly into jazz, rock, and world music, and gets vinyl absolutely 100% right. How? The majority of vinyl releases come with a CD, and all for just slightly higher than the retail price of the CD alone. Typical releases are 17 dollars. The beauty of this: I can do anything I want with this music. I don’t have to record the vinyl to MP3, don’t have to download 320kbps if I really want V0 or FLAC, and I can put it in my car or on my iPod. It’s really the best of all worlds for a pretty reasonable price. I’ll settle for a download card, but the CD is a really nice touch. Some other labels, like Anti, do a really cool thing: the download card that comes with the album can be shared with up to 5 other people. Record labels take note: these are major incentives for me to buy your album on vinyl.

7. There’s something really fun about vinyl. Maybe it’s the engagement factor: you have to care about that music enough to flip it over when the first side is done. You have to carefully place the needle if you want to hear a specific song. You can’t put it on shuffle. You have to cock your head sideways while staring at your shelf to find what you’re looking for. All of this goes contrary to what I said in point 2 above, but I always like to have a bit of balance. It’s not so much nostalgia (I may be young, but I still had vinyl before cassettes and before CDs), and it’s not so much about snobbery (though I admit I am one). It’s about the fetishistic physicality of vinyl that can’t be duplicated by 1s and 0s on a hard drive. And don’t get me started on how much I enjoy digging through crates at record stores…

8. I don’t buy all of it. I started working at a record company three months ago, and have instantly amassed a plethora of new vinyl releases. It is, far and away, the single best thing about working at a record label.

9. The vinyl community is undeniably awesome and simultaneously completely nuts. Don’t believe me? Go to a record fair sometime. It’s as if the comic book guy from The Simpsons got a Rush record from his brother when he was in high school and decided his path to obscurity would be much more fun with a little rock and roll.

10. I inherited my parents’ vinyl collection. Forty five years worth of great recordings, mostly 60s and 70s rock bands, but with some serious gems. I’ve got nearly all the Zappa albums, every single Beatles album, and my dad was even kind enough to buy a couple of Captain Beefheart records in his glory days. Digging through these stacks has not only given me a completely new appreciation for my parents, but a glimpse into the record collecting of years past.

I’ve recently taken to finding new and exciting places around Los Angeles that require little or no money to enjoy (times is tough, people!). So today Lisa and I did a couple fun things.

First we went to the Greystone Mansion & Park. The mansion once belonged to oil tycoon Edward Doheny, a once-prominent figure in Beverly Hills. The house and grounds have long since passed into the hands of the city, and are now available for public enjoyment. Today there was a wedding in the garden and house, so we couldn’t see much, but here are a couple more photos.

After a pleasant picnic in the park, I decided to head downtown to visit the LA Central Library. This library is much like the New York Public Library, or the Seattle Public Library: massive architectural milestones, and incredible book repositories to boot. It was my first time at the library, and I’m guessing it won’t be my last. Fortunately, today was a pretty quiet day at the library, and I was able to browse without crowds. And on weekends they have cheap parking!

Here’s the atrium of the library:

And finally I made a trip into Chinatown, where Lisa and I browsed the strange and wonderful culinary and cultural oddities that make Chinatown unique. How about dried sea dragons?

Then we headed into a mall to grab some boba tea. Unfortunately they were out of boba (for real), so I opted for a vanilla and red bean smoothie. Not bad, not great, way too big.

Total cost:
Greystone Mansion & Park – $0 ($20 if you count the lunch we brought with us)
LA Central Library – $1 for parking
Chinatown – $15 for two smoothies, wasabi peas, kiwifruit jelly candies, and a giant box of oolong tea

Well, as I am an avid collector of music, you better believe that I never parted ways with my old tapes. I’ve still got a couple of cases full of them. Many are commercially pressed recordings, ranging from Deep Purple to Jimi Hendrix (during that horrible phase where the Hendrix estate lost control of his music and they started “remastering” studio outtakes by overdubbing studio musicians).

But of course, I also have a bunch of mixtapes.

I couldn’t let all this great music go to waste! So I went to Craigslist and found myself a boombox for 20 bucks. Has a CD player, tape deck, and even an aux input (so I can make tapes from my MP3s). Heaven.

Here’s a bizarre gem of a tape I created for my middle school band, 2000 Flushes. We used to make tapes so we could learn the tunes. And since we’d never learn all the tunes on a given tape, I’d throw on a bunch of other stuff. I admit the tracklist here is pretty random, but rest assured these are all good songs on some level. Or maybe that’s just my 14 year old self talking.

The phrase “Fuck this, I’m moving to Lebanon” was some kind of inside joke I had in middle school. I really have no good explanation. The sticker on the outside of the tape remained intact.

And just for posterity, here’s the tracklist:

Side A
The Descendents – I’m The One
Stealers Wheel – Stuck in the Middle With You
Smashing Pumpkins – Disarm
Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby
Phish – Waste
Tool – Stinkfist
Spain – Untitled #1
Rage Against the Machine – People of the Sun
Elastica – Connection
The Jayhawks – Blue
The Jayhawks – I’d Run Away
Lenny Kravitz – Are You Gonna Go My Way?

Side B
Ben Folds Five – Julianne
Barenaked Ladies – If I Had $1000000
Blur – Song Number 2
Deee-Lite – Groove is in the Heart
The Offspring – Gone Away
Van Morrison – Wild Night
Jim Croce – Bad Bad Leroy Brown
Toad The Wet Sprocket – Walk on the Ocean (incorrectly labeled)
The Buggles – Video Killed the Radio Star
Soul Coughing – Super Bon Bon
Goldfinger – Here in My Bedroom
Cake – Rock & Roll Lifestyle
Semisonic – F.N.T.
The Refreshments – Banditos (cuts off)

100 years ago this wouldn’t have happened.  People had homes then.

I’ve recently come to realize, again, that I have no home.  When I was 18 I left for college like most of my generation (this is itself a seismic shift), and after I completed it, I moved elsewhere.  I grew up in Minnesota, and I still call it “home,” but in reality I haven’t been home in over 8 years.

I went to school in Boston.  I spent 7 years there, earning my two degrees from MIT, and then promptly set out for the complete opposite side of the country.  I moved to Los Angeles, somewhat on a whim, and managed to settle down (I’ve got a good job and a decent apartment, though I’m still trying to figure out how to live with my sister).  And my friends are no different.  Even friends who went to school in Minnesota left promptly after graduation, moving to major cities like Chicago, New York, and San Francisco.

I should stress that this is not unusual anymore.  The ability to communicate cheaply over long distances (indeed worldwide, and even beyond that) has deteriorated the sense of home, the sense of place.  And I don’t necessarily think that is a bad thing.  But my how life has changed since I was a kid.

I’m about to head “home” for the holidays, and reflecting on a year of decisions I’ve made, both good and bad, and places I’ve been, I can say that while I have no home I am often glad to be a citizen of the world.  The people I’ve met, far and wide, have shaped my life in some amazing ways.  And for that I am eternally grateful.

See you in the new year.