As much as I wish to avoid the remembrances that will be taking place on Wednesday, September 11 this year, I will not be able to since it's my job to cover what some people and some media outlets will be doing. It's not that I don't care and that I've already moved on, it's that I'm hitting overload. I've always felt that grief is a private thing. You can't tell someone how to grieve, you can't hand them a Guidebook of Grief Expression and tell them they're in violation of Article VII, Paragraph B, Section 8 because they didn't cry or they didn't light a candle or they didn't join in prayer vigils. Personally, I've never cried at a funeral, not even that of a close friend or family member. I just couldn't, and I don't know if the reason why I wanted to and why I feel guilty that I didn't was simply because it seemed expected and if I didn't cry, people would think I'm a bad or heartless person. Not this time. This time, I recognize my right to express myself however I feel is right, and everyone else's right to do the same. If you want to participate in a candlelight vigil or march in a protest or whatever, I have no problem with that. Just don't tell me I have to and don't tell me that I'm being unpatriotic if I don't. This country was based on freedom of speech and, by letting the terrorists know that they haven't beaten us, we're celebrating that right. So how is it that people can still say to others that because they're not conforming and grieving or protesting in a certain way that they're being unpatriotic or un-American? My personal expression -- and the fact that I can express myself in a personal manner and not have to go along with what everyone else is doing -- is part of what makes America great: the lack of enforcement to conform. I'm putting up a 9/11 Tribute/Memorial Set in the Music section. That's part of my expression of remembering those who lost their lives last year. The rest -- well, that's for me to determine and for me to exercise, and you can go to hell if you think you can tell me what I should be doing.

I went out last night with one of my best friends. We had a great time, and the only downside to the night was that I had more alcohol spilled on me than I actually consumed. Which is the reason why I'm running a laundry load right now. Well, that and the fact that I don't have any clean dark socks. We caught up, discussed life in general, but she waited until we had already put away a bottle of wine over dinner to tell me that she'd resumed contact with her latest ex-boyfriend. She waited because she knew it would make me upset, and she wanted me to at least be a bit dulled by the alcohol. I'm not quite sure what I'm more pissed about, the fact that she's seeing him again or the fact that she didn't tell me until now -- almost a month after she first saw him again. It's not that he hit her or anything, he didn't actively do anything bad. But he did things that drove her up a wall and caused some emotional distress, and for that reason I want to rip his face off. She broke it off, finally, 8 months ago after a long relationship, and she and I both knew she had to go cold turkey. Unfortunately, now that he's back in her life, she feels the pull again. She described part of the reason why she let him back into her life as being his unconditional love, which she feels is intoxicating. And I can partially understand that. Being loved like that is an amazing feeling -- one which I haven't felt in a while -- and it makes you want to go back for more. The only problem in this situation is the fact that there were other things that drove her away, but you can't go back to the bar for just one drink when you're a recovering alcoholic. She said that he "fixed" a few of the things that drove her crazy, but I still maintain that you shouldn't change yourself for a person like that and if you do, it's unhealthy -- for you and for the relationship. I have experience in this area, having been the malleable one and, to this day, I hate myself for it. Relationships should not be this much work. It's not a matter of too much compromise. There's good things and there's bad things about every relationship, but when it gets to the point where it drives you to the point of such frustration, it's time to recognize that there may be something a bit dysfunctional. And I wish that I had recognized that in my own relationships before I put myself through the anguish that I did.

A movie, dinner, drinks at Bar Marmont, dancing at the Garden of Eden and, finally, a cleanup visit to Jerry's Famous Deli. Hey, if this is how they do it in the movies, then I've certainly experienced the quintessential Los Angeles weekend night out. Except that I doubt that any of the characters I saw in any of the movies who did this sort of thing ever ordered a dish called a "peanut butter and jelly yummy." But damn, was it ever.

More tomorrow, after I've slept 9 or 10 hours. There are comments to be made about manual transmissions and seeing people you used to date.

Next week, we have the one-year "anniversary" (and I put that in quotes because I can't think of another word at present to describe it, despite the fact that the word anniversary usually has positive connotations) of the September 11 attacks, then two days later, we have Friday the 13th.

Oh yeah, the wack jobs'll be coming out of the woodwork next week.

I realized tonight that even though I've been here in Los Angeles for over 6 months now and I've done a pretty decent job of creating a life here, I still don't feel like this place is home yet. There's certain things that tip me off. Mostly, the drive home tonight is what hammered it home. I was kind of lost in thought as I made my way home from a family friend's house, and I found myself having to pay attention to specific things that, if I were fully comfortable with the area, should've been able to have been executed on autopilot.

In the dark, I didn't know exactly where it felt natural to stop to make the turn onto my own street, and if I were completely used to it, I'd have been able to do it almost with my eyes closed. I forgot about the fact that the right-most lane on Wilshire Boulevard going westbound just past the 405 merges into the lane next to it, and I shouldn't have turned into that lane in the first place, which I wouldn't have forgotten had I been used to driving back to my apartment. I still forget which streets are on which blocks around my apartment and around my workplace, and I sometimes can't remember what stores are at which cross-streets and which boulevards go straight through and which ones dead-end at a building and re-appear with the same name a block away. And I still don't know the DirecTV lineup, which TV stations go to which networks, and which radio stations inhabit which dial positions, which is usually something that comes pretty quickly and sticks with me. That's just within Los Angeles -- and mostly the Westside, for that matter -- since once you put me over that hill into the Valley, I'm completely lost and don't know my way around at all.

It's little things like that which keep me from feeling completely at ease and at home here. I know it's things like that which come with time, and it's just the simple fact that I haven't been here long enough to assimilate all of the information that's come pouring in over the past six months. It's just not long enough for me to put the puzzle pieces together. But it makes me feel a bit out of place and out of sorts, so although I'm trying to be patient and just wait for the day when I suddenly realize that L.A. has become home, that day doesn't seem like it'll come soon enough.

It rained tonight in Los Angeles. I stood outside in it, looked up at the sky and watched it fall towards me. I love the smell of a good rainfall, even though this wasn't so much a great rain as it was just a hard sprinkle. Of course, the natives freaked out because they're not used to it, and my commute home took twice as long as usual.

I still crave a good thunder and lightning storm with torrential downpours. I want to be able to sit inside on my couch, watching the lightning light up the sky and listening the rain fall.

Stress is slowly leaving my system. And with it, various forms of stress-induced side-effects are leaving the building as well. This brings more confidence back into the remix. And confidence, especially as Swerdloff describes, is a good thing.

I have my moments. I learned a while back that sometimes, you just have to suck it up and ask if you want something. Especially if you want it badly enough. There's been a few noteworthy times when I did such things, and they resulted in some pretty big life changes. One was back in high school when a radio station was going on the air in my town -- I didn't know who was running it, but I knew I wanted to be a part of it. So I walked into the offices that used the parking lot where I had seen this radio station truck parked, found out whose truck it was, and I asked for a job. It led to a rather interesting stint in radio, including an experience as a professional free-form radio DJ. Not many people can say that they've done free-form radio -- especially in today's radio world, and especially not at 17 years old. Another one led me here. People ask me how I got the job I have now, and I usually give them the simple explanation that I asked for it. I was sick of what I was doing, and after I was laid off, I was determined not to go back to public relations unless it was completely necessary. I also needed a change of scenery and I really didn't want to stay in Boston. So, when I found out that someone was leaving the place I wanted to work, I asked the head of the place for a job. I went out and met with him a few times. Circumstances (including 9/11 and the subsequent fallout) prevented them from hiring me. So I decided to pack up and move to Los Angeles, and I told my now-boss that I wanted so badly to work for him that I was moving out there and I'd support myself any way I could until something opened up for me at the company. Luckily, about two weeks before I planned on moving out to L.A. anyways, the job actually materialized for me, and my persistence paid off. So now I'm back in the music industry -- where I feel I belong -- and in a new city and doing something I want to do. Because I had the confidence to ask for it.

Now this just needs to spill over a little more into other aspects of my life. I'm not saying I expect wonders to happen immediately, but now that it's starting to come back, the confidence needs to go out and flex its muscles a bit. It's a good thing that I'm once again feeling at ease with myself and not worrying so much.

Worrying is the big thing. I'm a fairly big worrier. I just need to remember each time that I start to tense up that it's not really worth it. There's not really all that much in this lifetime that seriously needs to be worried about, and there's definitely not a whole lot that's worth giving myself an ulcer over. I may blow my stack every now and then (like the whole rant below), but getting angry and worrying are two separate things. It's not really worth it to worry that much over things that are out of my control, and getting angry every now and then is a bit therapeutic. I just need to keep remembering that. It's all about the mantra.

Well, it's all about the mantra and rocking hard too. One can't have fun if one isn't rocking hard.

MTV2 is playing a video by Moby right now. I have to say that out of all the performances I've seen so far this year, his set at the KROQ Weenie Roast in June definitely impressed me the most. He was all about talking with the crowd, connecting with the people, playing for the audience. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I was even more impressed that he put so much effort into his show given the fact that he's probably done the same damn performance 500 times this year and the only difference that night was the location. The only problem was, the crowd didn't respond to him as well as they responded to the Godawful Strokes, who basically just stood there playing their instruments without any energy or emotion at all as the lead singer leaned on his mic stand and moaned into the microphone.

I watched the conclusion of Comedy Central's "Contest Searchlight" tonight. It's like a trainwreck -- I didn't want to see it, especially because it lowered my opinion of Denis Leary who is one of my favorite people, but I couldn't not watch it. Without giving too much away, I'll basically say that I was appalled to see just how much ego is involved in this kind of business, how slippery everyone is in trying to shed any trace of blame in their efforts to scream at everyone else and point the finger and say "it's their fault," and how concerned everyone is with their own divaesque problems to the point of completely ruining a taping of a television show and starting fights during the taping just to satisfy prideful needs.

I firmly believe that in some ways and in a ton of examples, the "screw you" attitude has replaced talent for means of becoming popular. For example, words cannot express how much I loathe Courtney Love and the fact that I cannot fathom how on earth she became so famous when she has absolutely no talent whatsoever. But the fact that she is so famous -- some of that's got to be attributable to the fact that she has one of the world's biggest attitude problems. The same with Fred Durst.

But tomorrow's another day, and it's a day where I can continue to spread more good music and goodwill to the masses. I just need that coffee kickstart.

I've been asked -- what do I do? I make mixes. That's what I do.

I've been making mix tapes and CDs since as long as I can remember. And for some reason, I seem to be pretty decent at it. My friends all rejoice at the sight of a new disc for them, people at parties that I've burned discs for often ask the host for copies or to know who did the "party soundtrack," that sort of thing. I remember once in college, I made a mix tape for a friend but a few days later when I went to his dorm, I heard copies of it blasting out of at least three people's rooms -- he had been playing the tape over and over and so many people heard it and liked it that they asked him for copies. Then when I came over, his hallmates swarmed around me and asked me to make them mixes as well.

I tailor-make each and every one of my mixes for the recipient. I've never taken one mix and just mass-distributed it. I get a feel for what the person likes and I try to put together a disc that I think they'd like. And almost all the time, they do. I don't think I've ever gotten a bad response from a mix I've made. I've burned discs for people I've never even met that still got rave reviews.

The character John Cusack plays in High Fidelity was right: Making a mix is a very subtle art. It's a very delicate and complicated thing. And it's why I put so much work into selecting the proper songs and ordering them just so, because you can't just throw songs in a mix and have it all come out in the wash. A good mix doesn't go from something like Neil Diamond straight into Guns 'n' Roses -- though I have included songs by both in the same mix and made it work. It needs to flow. I don't just pile a bunch of songs in and hit "burn."

You're going to laugh, but I kind of feel like whenever I make someone a mix, I'm giving them a little piece of me. This is my work, my personal judgment, my time, my personal tastes and my thoughts of them going into each disc I'm burning. And hopefully, whenever they listen to it, they'll think of me, wherever the either of us might be.

I really didn't want to have to deal with this. I really didn't want to acknowledge the fact that it's still going on. But the blog world is bubbling it up to the surface again, and I've got to address it. So let me start out by saying equivocally and rationally: Kiss my liberal Democrat-registered free-thinking ass.

Here's the breakdown:

1. I really don't like being called un-American because I openly criticize our country and especially our dumbass president. Let me tell you how much I appreciate and treasure the fact that I am able to do so without fear of suddenly "disappearing" and never being heard from again because my government's "security forces" stormed my bedroom in the middle of the night. I love being an American. It's part of who I am. In fact, if anyone asks me what I am, I tell them first and foremost without hesitation that I'm an American. I have no shame about it. So why do I criticize our country and our dumbass president? For several reasons, one of which being because I can. I have to stand up and shout until I'm blue in the face for those who can't, and I have to exercise my right to free speech because if I don't speak up for myself and make my views and needs heard, who will? Who will address them if they're not raised?

Another reason is that if I feel there's something wrong, it's my responsibility to raise my hand and say, "Hey, uh... what's up here?" If you're in a relationship and you think things aren't going the way that you'd like and you've got issues, are you just going to stick it out and think that if you just sit in the corner quietly with your hands folded neatly in your lap, your significant other is just going to intuitively know what's bothering you and fix it? No, and if you thought the answer to that question was yes, you've got bigger problems than me being vocal about my issues with this country and its administration and policies. I'm in a relationship with this country. Things my president and my Congress do affect me. So if I've got a problem, I can't just sit in the corner with my hands folded neatly in my lap because chances are if I do that, things will continue to stray farther and farther from where I think they ought to go. Because if I don't say anything, those things that irk me really aren't going to change.

So by me not blindly following our administration and our dumbass president, I'm doing myself a favor. I'm doing you and your families and friends a favor too, because that way we don't slowly slide towards a dictatorship where we've all grown so accustomed to following blindly that it eventually becomes a way of life where the government is not questioned. Remember the '60s? Or, for that matter for those of us who weren't alive or old enough during that era, remember the '80s? Remember how communists were evil and the Evil Soviet Empire didn't allow its citizens freedom of speech or freedom of expression and how we reveled in our own? Remember when we were so scared of becoming a government-controlled state that we went all over the world to aid the democratic forces in places like Vietnam and Grenada and Haiti so that the military dictatorships and the communists wouldn't take control, and they could all be shiny happy little democratic societies like America where the people could do what they want and say what they want and express themselves however they want? But now y'all are telling me I need to shut up and sit down and blindly obey the government because if I don't, I'm being anti-Establishment. Mmmkay... so, can you guys make up your damned minds already? Either I be a member of a nice shiny happy democracy and I speak my mind and I have the right to disagree without fear of reprisal or threat, or we become a nation where we all follow the Will of Our Leader. Hey, haven't we been calling those nations like Iraq where the Will of the Leader is unquestionably obeyed under fear of death, reprisal or threat Evil? So, under that reasoning, you telling me that I should not question our leader puts you in that category of wanting the unquestioning following of the Leader, so you support Evil Terrorist Nations like Iraq. If you want to go blindly obey a leader like that, I suggest you move there.

2. I'm really shocked about this whole anti-Muslim sentiment that flared up post-9/11 and seems to be rearing its ugly head again. Honestly, it really disgusts me. Almost every ethnic group and religion has its faux pas, yet we're not stereotyping all those who belong to those groups by the few and far between examples like we are doing to the Muslims. A group of 20 Muslim hijackers did something horrifying, so we're going after all the Muslims. A group of probably around 20 white Catholic American men have molested hundreds if not thousands of children around the country, but I don't see people clamoring for the witch-hunt against white Catholic American males. None. Not anywhere near the extent that we've been railing against the Muslims. You people have no compunction about sending your children off to church and CCD where they are in the hands of potential molesters, but see a Muslim man and you're beating him up and torching his mosque and saying racial slurs to him. Plus, what about all the other white Catholic American males running around this country? How come we're not locking them up and profiling them for the possibility that they might molest your children? Because, quite frankly, the chances your child will be molested are a hell of a lot better than their chances of getting killed or hurt in a terrorist attack.

Two words for you: Timothy Fucking McVeigh. Here's two more words for you: Ted Fucking Kaczynski. Remember them? White Catholic boys who committed terrorist acts in our country? Who were hunted down as the Most Dangerous Men Around? Who killed children and parents and blew up buildings? They weren't Muslim and they weren't from the Middle East. So how come there wasn't a witch-hunt to go after people of like backgrounds after they were caught? How come white American males weren't harassed and threatened like we're doing to the Muslims? Oh, we've got our excuses -- we're not all like them, you know. They're the aberration. Well, I've got news for you, Professor -- not all Muslims are like the radical extremists who crashed those planes into the World Trade Center. That's why they're called radical extremists, genius. They're the aberration. Yet we suddenly have these propagandist images of all Muslims planted in our heads as bomb-wearing lunatics with no respect for human life, and we're letting ourselves get carried away with it. I didn't see any media images of white American males as fertilizer-bombmakers being planted in our heads after Tim McVeigh blew up the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. Guess what? I can wander down to Home Depot and buy some fertilizer and then rent a van from Avis, so I'm a pretty dangerous man myself. Why isn't anyone afraid of me and people like me the way they're afraid of Muslims? Why aren't people asking flight attendants to have me removed from airplanes because I'm a white American male like Timothy McVeigh? How come I'm not being racially profiled? How come you're not being racially profiled or pulled off of planes or being detained by the FBI? How come no one's pulling you off the streets and beating you up?

3. Terrorists destroyed two of our most prominent buildings, murdered several thousand of our citizens. That, I will firmly say, is unacceptable. So for those of you who have been building up this entire defense of how I support terrorism, let me dispel that from your minds right now. I do not condone terrorism, and I am mad as hell about what happened last September 11th. But think about all the times our country has run off to do the same thing. How many countries have we bombed in the name of democracy? How many people have we killed, how many wars or skirmishes or military actions have we waged in the name of All That Is Good, and yet we have no problems about it because we were defending our way of life and trying to "liberate" others so they could experience McDonald's and Levi's like us. Well, those terrorists attacked us in the way that we attacked others. And in their countries, they're seen as people who went off to fight the good fight for their way of life. I'm not saying it's right, but I'm saying that I see their point of view.

We do an awful lot of imposing on other countries, and I really don't think we realize it. We are the Big Enforcer of the World, we are the Babysitter, we are the Parent Who Says Eat Your Democracy Because It's Good For You and You Can't Leave Until You Clean Your Plate. It's no wonder countries in the Middle East consider us the Great Satan. What gives us the right to go running all over the world and remaking it in our image? Maybe they're happy with the way things are and they don't want our fast food and our blue jeans.


So, let me sum up here. Hate the terrorist, but hate the terrorist specifically. Don't generalize. Speak up and don't follow blindly. Don't tell me I shouldn't disagree and that I should follow blindly. Being an American does not mean being ignorant or closed-minded, and especially don't tell me I'm being un-American because I'm not being ignorant or closed-minded. Since when did being a liberal suddenly become a bad thing? And finally, I can't believe that we as a nation have become such blind ignorant closed-minded dumbasses that I actually had cause to get angry over this kind of thing.

It shows that Los Angelenos are not used to any weather other than sunny & 80 degrees. The temperature was predicted to go up to 91 degrees today, and they issued a severe weather alert.

I was telling my roommates about how when I was back East, I'd sometimes have to shovel the driveway before it was done snowing simply because there was so much snow coming down that it would be too heavy if I waited until it stopped. So I went out there after 4 or 5 inches came down to shovel the driveway and by the time I was done, another inch was already on the ground. My roommates each had a reaction: One said that snow is light and fluffy and how could it be too heavy that I'd have to go out before it was done to shovel the driveway because wasn't that extra work, and the other said I sounded like a cranky old man talking about how the young whippersnappers these days don't understand how hard I had it back in my day.

If the fact that an entire major intersection was tied up this morning by parents in their Lexuses and Mercedes and urban assault vehicles dropping off their kids didn't make my morning commute pleasurable, the fact that I came out to my car this morning to find the moron who parallel parked behind me last night scraped the paint off my rear bumper sure did.

The problem is, all I have is circumstantial evidence. It's my word that the damage -- which is purely cosmetic, but when you have a silver car, these kinds of things are easily noticed -- wasn't there last night, and that I found a fresh-looking corresponding scrape on the front bumper of the car parked behind me. And this little scrape will probably cost a pretty penny to make it look like it never happened, which is why I want the other person's insurance -- if they have any -- to pick up the tab.

My car is my chariot. My car is one of my most treasured possessions. I love my car. We make a great team, even if she's not a flashy $100,000 sports car. So I like keeping her in the best possible shape, and that's cosmetically too. The fact that someone would carelessly mar her pisses me off. I don't care if the other person is driving a clunker with dents and scrapes already all over, my car doesn't and your dents and scrapes don't give you the right to be careless around my car.

Given that I spent a little bit of time in the sun today and it's also pretty damn hot here, I opted tonight to stay in and watch a film I hadn't seen before. I hadn't seen Moulin Rouge yet, and seeing as how it got so much acclaim -- plus I've been to Paris and seen the real one -- that I figured tonight was as good a night as any to watch it.

I was appalled. Nay, I was disgusted. Normally, I kind of like Baz Luhrmann's stuff. His version of Romeo & Juliet was interesting enough to appeal to the masses, and I absolutely loved his CD. So given the amount of praise I had heard about the film and the fact that it won a bunch of awards, I was expecting a decent amount of originality. Plus, the summary on IMDB says (and I quote): "Moulin Rouge is a shockingly creative and fascinating film about an original love story."

Shockingly creative and fascinating film about an original love story, my ass! That film is Shakespeare in Love -- a film that came out three years before Moulin Rouge -- with can-can girls and orchestral reworkings of modern-day rock songs and love ballads thrown into the mix. How much more trite, unoriginal and uncreative can a film get when it barely has any original content to begin with? I knew how the film would end about a half-hour into my viewing, but I kept watching because I hoped that somewhere along the line, the storyline would actually get creative and not follow the formulaic plot that I predicted. It didn't.

I don't know what bothers me more -- the fact that it wasn't original and it was so critically acclaimed, or the fact that people seemed to think it was so original and terrific. Do we really have that short an attention span as a viewing audience and that much appreciation for visual effects that they outweigh the lack of originality and creativity?

It was unseasonably warm in Los Angeles today. To the point where I'd venture to say that so far this year, it was the hottest day it's ever been. And now, at 3AM local time, it's still hot. And I'm still awake, though I can't tell if that's because I slept 10 hours last night and I'm still completely rested, I'm too uncomfortably hot to sleep, or if it's a by-product of the half a liter of Mountain Dew Code Red I downed earlier today.

I was stumbling around various sites tonight (because we all know the Internet is a great way to kill time when it's 3AM and you're not tired) and stumbled across this rather interesting site from another L.A. resident. She's not only got good content and pictures, but she's also completely tricked out her site with Flash and all that jazz plus a soundtrack that features the sound of rain and some basslines and notes on an electronic piano. It's oddly disconcerting and yet soothing at the same time. But the thing that I finally realized that was getting to me was the sound of rain falling.

Now I--
Oh now I wish it would rain down
Down on me
Oh yes I wish it would rain
Rain down, down on me now...
-- Phil Collins, "I Wish It Would Rain Down"

The last time I heard rain falling was when I was back East visiting my parents over a month ago, and I sat out on their back porch for over an hour while I just listened to the rain come down and watched the lightning illuminate the night. Until you have experienced it, you have no idea what a soothing sound rainfall can be -- but it has to be natural, that artificial noise machine crap just doesn't cut it. Falling asleep to rainfall is a great thing, and it makes me miss weather all over again (yes, I've already written about my displeasure over the fact that it's always sunny in L.A. and it's disconcerting to me that there's no WEATHER here).

Coming to Los Angeles makes me realize just what a precious commodity rain is. Not even in terms of replenishing reservoir supplies and all those environmental aspects, but also as far as giving the psyche a rest. An excuse to stay indoors and allow yourself to slow down from the fast pace and give yourself a respite from the impetus to go outside and do something -- anything active and outdoors -- that being in constant sunnyness gives you. And, I have to admit, it's a bit romantic as well and it appeals to the poetic soul.

I've set up a playlist of rain-related songs and I'll climb into bed now with the hopes that the mere thought of rain will be able to lull me to sleep. Tomorrow, I may e-mail the person behind the rain-soundtracked website, and hopefully she'll answer me since she seems like a very interesting person and someone I'd like to get to know.

I'm feeling so alive, feeling so real
On a stormy night, the rain is coming down
Rain like never before
I've got some records on, some bottles of wine
On a stormy night, the rain is lashing down
And I'm waiting for her...
-- Ash, "Goldfinger"

I have this thing about music where I need to hear stuff that I know and like every few hours, otherwise I go into some kind of withdrawal. No, really. When I was in college, a couple of friends told me that they wanted to perform a kind of psych experiment on me and denied me music for over a day -- which is odd because I was the psych major and they were all computer science majors. Either way, they'd gotten a list of symptoms that are associated with moderate drug withdrawal, and they said that I exhibited almost all of them. So I guess it's a bit of an addiction. For some reason, it tends to hit me more hard when I'm at weddings. I don't know what it is, if it's the kitsch factor of the music being played, or the fact that I don't like lounge-style cover bands, or if I subconsciously need an escape from the overall atmosphere, but at least once (and usually more than once) during a wedding, I find myself sneaking out to the parking lot to sit in the car for a few minutes and turn on the radio. Usually, I need to listen to something a bit harder-edged when I'm at a wedding, too. The reason why I bring this up is because I sometimes feel like a song is an imprint -- a snapshot in time. I can remember specific instances of what I was doing and where I was when I heard a song. And I just heard a song by Live that reminded me of a wedding I went to on Long Island about 5 years ago. I snuck out during the reception, turned on the radio, dialed it down to New York's K-Rock and spent about 4 minutes in bliss while Live serenaded me with a straight-on rock song. Interesting how I can remember the way the trees looked through the windshield of my car, how the sun shone down on that spring day in April and how the reception hall looked. After five years, I still have that imprint to go along with the song.