Navigating the Connotation of Spaces

Every space has a certain connotation that is identified with it. Much of this connotation is collective: specific groups view particular places in pretty much the same way. These ideas help us decide where we think we belong and–diversity, be damned–where we don’t.

We choose our neighborhoods, what kind of work to pursue, where to shop, eat and play based on cultural expectations, variations in economy, who we can identify with and are willing to interact with, if it meets our definitions of safe, or welcoming, or worthwhile. This is how we decide where we belong.

A space might be male or female, professional or punk. But connotations are malleable, and spaces are often more dynamic than we give them credit. Deeper readings may return new meanings. The war room, the man cave, the center stage. A dark alley signifies danger to John and Jane Doe, but for someone else the same channel is “home.”

Parks, parties and front porches–these are permeable spaces that we move through and impose our attitudes into. My point is this: Make a conscious contribution to the creation of spaces with positive connotations. Leave a way-finding marker that facilitates navigation. In English: Go forth and make a path for the ones who will come after you. This is a process of breaking expectations, thwarting intimidation, surprising the naysayers, swallowing fear and ultimately making meaning within the space you choose to occupy.


Sounds for Lost Angels: Music around town

This is a post about:
A) Some dope artists I’ve had the pleasure of seeing live recently.
B) Some dope artists that are playing in L.A. in coming days (scroll down to find out now).

First up, I met up with some friends at the Smell last night and caught this guy tearing it up:

Signor Benedick The Moor is a punk as fuck metal ass rapper. He’ll get inside your head and make you feel alive. Whatever that means. SBTM is part of the DeathBombArc collective, and a recent transplant to this teeming cesspool of a city from Suckramento. Welcome to L.A. sucker.

“You’ve been sleeping” is what I was told after seeing Sole for the first time at the Church of F.U.N. recently. Yeah, I have. Shit. This guy tells it like it is. Real talk like you don’t even know. In-your-face kind of real, and mad beats to boot.

Sole is touring with Pat “the Bunny” right now, and that guy’s dope as fuck too. Reminds me of John Darnielle, but maybe more punk. He’s one helluva songwriter, that’s for sure.

~Now for Part B!~

Novi Split is having a record release show at the Echo this Sunday. Go. Do it. Don’t sleep on this local L.A. band.

And Chantal Claret, who I really can’t fucking get enough of, is doing a free show at the Satellite on Monday (3/10).

I wrote this post instead of doing the work I’m supposed to be doing, so I hope you enjoy it. I did this all for you.

Go for it.



Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance—but how ready do you have to be?


#~new things are excite!~#

Sometimes you gotta just go for it—and by sometimes I mean, like, all the time. Just go for it. You’ll never be ready if you keep telling yourself you’re not ready. You might surprise yourself. You might have fun, or learn something.

You might totally fuck up, SO WHAT? You know what’s worse than making a mistake, or not being the best?  Missed opportunities.         I hate that shit. Opportunities don’t come around twice. Every opportunity is once-in-a-lifetime. Don’t wait for the next time. Today is the day, go forth and go for it.



I have some reports on my first race and my first century and some other first-y moments that I am polishing up to share in the coming weeks (handwritten accounts that never made it through the keyboard). In all honesty, the firsts were great—exhilarating and new, totally–but the best thing about getting out there and taking on tasks and challenges that I might not have felt ready for (most all of them, tbh) is all of the opportunities that follow. The next new thing that lies after is the thing you won’t ever get to unless you get over that first hump.


It's just a fucking scrape.

It’s just a fucking scrape.

I’ll admit, I am not risk-averse—but that doesn’t mean I don’t get shit-my-pants scared.

Life is short, dammit. How else will we know what it’s like? How else can we know? Hearsay is bogus, just do it yourself. I dare you.

I actually got ran over in my first real cyclocross race. Ran. Over. Yup.

I actually got ran over in my first real cyclocross race. Ran. Over. Yup.