Don't listen to what I say. Lie to me about my outfit.

So apparently that photo--the one I wondered about in my first blog--actually is of me.
I was effing shocked.
You know how sometimes you leave a voicemail for a friend and then hear it played for you later and you could swear that someone replaced your normal speaking voice with that of someone who owns every season of How I Met Your Mother on DVD?
That's a lot like how I feel about that picture.

Perhaps I'm making too much out of this.
But, in all honesty, if I wasn't making a big deal out of this, it would be misleading you about the contents of blogs to come.

So it's a little after midnight here and I just finished working on a few pieces for the next issue--namely scouting out products for an upcoming Gig Bag section and transcribing interviews for In The Studio. (I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to tell you who those interviews were with, but I'm almost certain I can tell you that I wish I would've asked the lead singer of one of the bands more about his new haircut. And by "more," I mean "anything.") I can also tell you that one of the other bands I talked to are my favorite band from Seattle who don't have either of the words "Sound" or "Garden" in their name. (Please visit your local library for more on Soundgarden, grunge and the sad effect of emotional paralysis that the mid-'90s apparently had on my musical tastes. For more on the mid-'90s, please download Jawbox's For Your Own Special Sweetheart immediately.)

You may have caught a little piece of information in that rambling mass of text above--yes, I wrapped up those pieces I was working on around midnight. If you think being a music writer and/or editor is a glamorous job, well, it is. It's a hell of a lot more glamorous than any of my former occupations (which included transporting produce, writing obituaries and being paid $4 a week to reassure the kindly lady next door that her dead cat was very much alive). But the thing about my occupation is that it's one of those ones that don't really end when you punch out. I've said this before, but being a writer is actually a lot like having a sociology paper that you've barely looked at due the next day--every day.

It's a particularly rough week in the AP office, though, since all of the editors are scrambling to get their sections in before Friday's deadline while simultaneously putting the finishing touches on this year's Warped Tour program. (For those who were unaware, the same folks who make AP also make the program you'll be thumbing through on your respective Warped date.)

But for that very reason, I've gotta leave you now.
If I don't catch at least one segment of Baseball Tonight on ESPN, I'm gonna be no use to anyone.

By the way, send some comments my way, kid. You know those girls who post MySpace bulletins soliciting for comments on her new photos and her new, ridiculous outfit? That's kind of what I'm doing here. Except I just want you to tell me you're out there. You don't have to lie to me about my outfit.