"All The Little Chicks With The Crimson Lips Say...

...Cleveland Rocks!"
But their airport sucks.
Or, more specifically, NWA.
No, not the 80's rap group Niggas With Attitude. Northwest Airlines.
We just spent the last week here in Cleveland, visiting family and friends, etc.
Our return trip was supposed to be today. One flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul, then a connecting flight to San Francisco.
BUT
approximately three minutes after boarding the plane to Minneapolis, they made us take our stuff and get off the plane for some "last minute maitenance."
That was at 6:30 (eastern time). The plane was supposed to take off at 6:49. It is now 8:49 here.
We now have to spend a night in a hotel once we get to St. Paul, then pay for the extra day our car is parked at SFO, and our dog has to spend one more night at our friends' house, and we all miss him dearly.
Thank god my mom had a laptop.

"But what did you do there?"
We got in on Sunday. Tomato soup and salmon patties at [my grandparents] Gram R and Poppy's house, like always.
Monday was lunch at Jack's Deli. Corn beef to die for. Then we picked up Seth at Kent State. Dinner at Hunan in Solon. Seth and I went to his dad, my Uncle Kenny's house to pick up his car, and he and I went to one of his friend's house. Back to Seth's house.
Tuesday was quiet, until dinner at Seth's mom, my Aunt Karen's house. Most of the family, gathered together over chicken wings and football.
Wednesday was fun. Uncle Kenny took Seth, his sister Lauren and her boyfriend Matt, my brother Noah and I out to dinner at the House of Blues, then to the Cavaliers' game. I can now tell my kids that I saw Lebron James play when he was with the Cavs. I slept at Seth's house, just like every year on the night before Thanksgiving. After watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, he went to bed. I stayed up watching Family Guy and Scrubs and channel surfing in general. (Being one who only subscribes to basic cable at home, I must say, at two in the morning, Cinemax is a hell of a channel.)
Thursday was Thanksgiving. I woke up in time to watch the entire Macy's Day Parade. I went back to Gram R's, where I took a short nap before people started arriving. Gram R and I, with some assistance from Noah, made our yearly eggnog. (FUN FACT: Eggnog is the greatest beverage since water.) Dinner was delicious, as always. After dinner, my oldest, dearest friend Kathryn arrived with her family. Kathryn lives back in New Jersey, but she also has family she visits in Cleveland. She and I talked nonstop for a couple of hours. My mom came into my room and told me to come downstairs. I obliged, and a hell of a surprise was waiting. Mark Jones. My dad's oldest and best friend, who nobody in my family had seen in over three years, had decided to fly in from New York to surprise us. What a nice surprise.
Friday was calmer. We went to the movies with Kathryn and her mom. We saw Four Christmases. Not bad, in my opinion. That night was an early birthday dinner at Maggiano's for Gram R, and Seth and I provided the music, switching off between electric guitar and fretless electric bass.
Then today. Gram R and I went to the mall, conveniently five minutes from her house, went home, packed, said our goodbyes, and left. We got the airport around 5:00 [Eastern time]. It is now 9:13, and I'm STILL IN CLEVELAND.
I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I (for once) don't want to be in Cleveland.
This is not fun.
But the video below is.

-Jason

American Tune

Hey there.
It's been too long, hasn't it?
It certainly has.
As Elvis Costello said, "I just don't know where to begin." I'm sure other people have said that, too, but I happen to be an Elvis Costello fan, and he just happened to have opened a brilliant song that began a brilliant album with that line ("Accidents Will Happen" from Armed Forces) . Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I saw him again, at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival in Golden Gate Park. It was great, because it wasn't the typical E.C. show, partially due to the song selection ("Friend of the Devil," "Love Hurts") and to the guest stars (Emmylou Harris, Burlington Welsh Men's Choir). A couple days before that, Emily and I went in to see the astounding performance by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss. And this was all free. Isn't San Francisco great?

We're doing The Laramie Project at school. For those not familiar, it is about the brutal murder of Matthew Shepard, a gay University of Wyoming student, and how his death affected his hometown of Laramie, WY.
There's a scene at the very beginning of the play where I play Matthew as he is being beaten. Garren, who plays his assailant, Aaron McKinney, is "hitting" me repeatedly. Several times over the past couple performances, he has actually hit me on accident, and it was quite painful. That alone made me realize what kind of pain Matthew was in. If Garren accidentally hitting me with his hand was painful, imagine what it would feel like to be repeatedly pistol-whipped while tied up, then left for dead.
I cannot say I know his pain, and I hope I never will know it, but I know some pain, and that's worse than none at all.
(That sounded poetic as I first wrote it, but as I reread it, it just sounds like bullshit. I'm still leaving in up, though.)
The play is oddly appropriate, given that Prop 8 just passed. Prop 2 also passed, but that was a good thing.
FUN FACT: In the state of California, farm animals have more rights than gays.
Isn't America just great?

Wanna hear a great song? It'll be in the video attached to the end of this blog. Don't skip straight to it, though, I want to build anticipation. Trust me, it's worth it. (It's an appropriate song, given what's going on in the country right now.)

I have now been single for two years and one week. Amanda, an old friend from middle school got back in touch with me via myspace, and mentioned the incident in sixth grade choir when she hit me with her shoe. That brought back so much, and so much made sense.
After she hit me, I told Ms. Steidel, the choir teacher. She moved a girl named Rachel between Amanda and I. Rachel and I started talking, and became fast friends. We remained close over the next two years. The day after we graduated eighth grade, I asked her out, and she said yes. November 1st of that same year, we broke up, but we remain friends to this day. Now, if Amanda had never hit me with her shoe, none of this might've happened. I could have ended up as one of those guys who's with a new girl every week, or I could've just stayed single these last 16 years. I will never know for sure, but I would like to thank Amanda profusely for hitting me with her shoe and in turn giving me the best five consecutive months ever.

FUN FACT: Until I was three, I was unaware of the fact that I have eyebrows. My haircuts were frequent enough that my eyebrows always covered my bangs without me ever having to brush them away. And for those of you might ask if I saw them after baths, no. I wasn't tall enough to see into the mirror, which makes me wonder how I knew what I looked like...

This should've been first, but here goes. Obama won. I cannot remember a time I was this happy (a close second was finding out we were going back to New Jersey after moving there seven years prior). The best part is, I know I made a difference. I got out there and campaigned my ass off. I had stickers and buttons and t-shirts and "Yes We Can"s and "HOPE"s out the wazoo. I don't think that any election has seen this amount of people under voting age campaigning. McCain got the old people vote, Obama got the kids. Kids are born everday, just as frequently as old people die. In fact, since beginning this paragraph, a McCain voter has probably died, and the child of an Obama voter has probably been born. I'm sorry for your loss and congratulations, it's a girl.
I can't wait to see how Obama makes this world better one step at a time.

This year's Jazz Band is wonderful. We're performing at the Heritage Festival in Anaheim this coming Memorial Day weekend, and that involves a trip to Disneyland with most of my friends. This is very awesome.

This is kinda old news, but I beat the system. My last post was Wednesday, September 3rd. The next day I checked my email. I got an email from KFOG (104.5FM ) saying I had won Lindsay Buckingham tickets for September 7th. Great, I thought, I love Fleetwood Mac, but it's a shame I couldn't have won Squeeze tickets. Now, on Friday, the 5th, was the Brian Wilson concert. We went, we got better seats than we had originally bought, and it was fantastic. Sunday the 7th brought forth the Lindsay Buckingham concert, and all was wonderful. Two days later, I checked my email again. I received another email from KFOG saying I had won - you guessed it - Squeeze tickets for that Friday night. Needless to say, I was extremely excited. Now, you're not supposed to be able to win concert tickets from KFOG twice in six months, but for some reason I did. The Squeeze concert was one of the most satisfyingly amazing concerts I've ever been to. I sincerely hope this reunion is more than a one-off and that they continue to tour for the foreseeable future.

OTHER EXCITING STUFF:
-I saw The Cab, Plain White T's, Dashboard Confessional, and Panic At The Disco as part of the Rock Band Live promotional tour.

Oh, I almost forgot! My band! Faux Shaux. We had our first (and hopefully not last) show on October 11th (the same day as the Rock Band Live show). We pretty much rocked successfully. Click on the link to see our page and to listen to songs.

I hope these last few minutes weren't wasted.

-Jason

Birthday, The "Before Picture."

I will be 16 in just under an hour. That's weird. I was so glad to be 13, then 14, then 15, and i never really took the time to savor it. Now I'm going to be 16. i'm only a "kid" for two more years, until i'm legal. I may only be living in this house for two more years. I may only be living in this city for two more years. Adulthood is fast approaching, and frankly, I'm scared. You know what would make me feel better? Presents. But seriously, though, i'm a little scared.

More later, when I'm 16.

Signing off at 15,

-Jason

Dreaming With A Broken Heart

Well, more like dreaming, and waking up with a broken heart.
But it's not really broken.
Right?
I've been single for almost two years now, and lacking the advantages possessed by those in relationships, my dreams get really weird.
Like for example, a recent weird one involved me being in a relationship with a friend of mine who I'll refer to as "Girl A." Meanwhile, I was over at another friend, "Girl B's," house, hanging out. Girl A arrives to pick me up, and as Girl B walks me to the door, she plants three or four kisses on my cheek, then motions that she wants me to kiss her on the cheek, which I do. I ask, "so does this mean we're going out or something?" She says something that made complete sense in the dream, but means absolutely nothing in the real world. She said "My dad works for Google," which in the dream meant "no, we're just fooling my dad into thinking we are." Confused? I am.
The dream jumps to another point in time, and I see a billboard with a list of phrases that Girl B says, and then what she really means (once again, perfectly normal in the dream). I see the "Google" phrase up there, with the real meaning being "I really like you." I was a little awestruck, but I saw it as a good thing. Then I woke up.
The thing is, I woke up with a crush on Girl B.
Every time I have a dream where at any point I become romantically involved with a girl, I develop a crush on that girl. It's a major problem of mine, and one that probably cannot be cured. It's happened at least six times. I was able to talk myself out of this latest crush, but it's still slightly freaking me out, the thought of this friend of mine acting so uncharacteristic.
I think it's uncharacteristic. I mean, I could totally see her doing something like that, but I could also see her being disgusted at the thought of something like that (the major flirt part, not the me part).
I'm usually pretty good with interpreting dreams, but this one has me stumped.
Help?

And now for something completely different.
Top Ten Beatles Songs That Will Make You Rethink The Beatles
1. Revolution #9
2. I Am The Walrus
3. Helter Skelter
4. Because
5. Happiness Is A Warm Gun
6. Strawberry Fields Forever
7. Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite
8. I Want You (She's So Heavy)
9. A Day In The Life
10. Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except For Me And My Monkey
Yes, they're all real Beatles songs.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. This is a concert filled year.
Elvis Costello, The Police, Allen Toussaint, B.B. King, Brett Dennen, Colbie Callait, John Mayer, and Joe Simiele.
But wait, there's more!
The Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park features performances by Elvis Costello, Emmylou Harris, Robert Plant & Alison Krauss, Nick Lowe, Loudon Wainwright III, and MC Hammer (for reals). And it's free.
Other concerts I want to see:
Brian Wilson (for the third time)
The Fratellis
Panic At The Disco
Black Crowes
Herbie Hancock
Randy Newman
Squeeze
and whoever else gets announced.

I Love Music.

-Jason

Dreaming With A Broken Heart

Try!

I need to get out.
I really really need to get out.
I am not a wallflower. My friends that think they are wallflowers are not wallflowers.
Why do we feel this way anyway? We are so antisocial, nay, lazy, that we tend to feel ignored or unnoticed when really, we're just not making an attempt to get out there.
Where is there? Anywhere. Go see a movie. Go to the park. Play croquet. Get drunk and play spin-the-bottle. I don't care (but if you choose the last one, let me know).
My last few outings have been purely music related. I went back to the Sauasalito Cruising Club for another Monday night blues jam, and I must say that I played wonderfully. I've found I don't solo well under pressure, but recognizing most of the crowd from last time, I felt no pressure to have to wow them.
Tuesday was spent with Chris and Justin at Justin's house. We played through our set list for our upcoming webcast (late September, folks) and I played my ass off. Seriously, I don't think I've ever played better in my life. The shared energy between three people coming together to play the music they love helped create an amazing sound emanating from the garage.
It couldn't have been easier. Chris and my shared obsession over John Mayer made those songs easy to play, and our love of the blues made the slow blues songs fabulous (especially when Chris and I both played with one hand while holding our sodas in the other hand).
That's the great thing about the blues. You can improvise, and you don't have to learn a specific part.
I deeply admire and respect Eric Clapton, often to the point of worship, but when we motored through "Crossroads," I know my solo was more engaging than anything Clapton's played in the last ten years. Go on youtube and check. His playing has decreased as he's aged. He's lost that youthful energy, and not even a guitar battle with John Mayer was able to get him to kick himself in the ass and say "fucking GO!"
I think that was the first time I've said "fuck" in a blog.
No. This is the fourth, not including a quote by a friend, and the above "fuck."
I've gotten off topic from what I was saying, but wallflowers are just people who think they're wallflowers. The people at parties that stand against a wall and think "Hmph. Look at him, having a good time. God, she's so beautiful."
There is absolutely nothing preventing you from having a good time, with the possible exception of torture. But even then, you can say "Thank you sir, can I have another?"
People who think they're wallflowers just need a kick in their self-esteem's ass.
As a wise man once said,
Easy does it now,
just keep your damn mouth shut.
She thinks you're hot already,
don't go and press your luck.
No news is good news coming,
you've got to know you tried.
Don't go and blow it,
you do every single time.

That wise man was John Mayer, and the song was "Try!" Sometimes, you have to fall flat on your ass to boost your self esteem. Sometimes you've got to spend money to make money. If you realize that rejection, embarrassment, and humiliation aren't that bad, then you're more likely to be more social.
But Jason, you ask, what if I've ruined my reputation?
Simple. Get a new reputation.
If you were the most popular kid in school (like schools even have a "popular" clique these days) and you ruined your reputation by sleeping with a teacher to get the answers to a test.
Become a photographer, and claim your "abuse" is an inspiration and a recurring theme in your photography. It doesn't have to be good, but if you say that it's inspired by abuse, people will have pity on you and love you again.
Your friends might not, but you can always make new ones.

Speaking of creepy sex, Edward Cullen is the worst thing to happen to literature since Adolf Hitler's autobiography "Mein Kampf."
Oh, and Bella chooses Edward instead of Jacob.
Spoiler alert, bitch.

Bring me the heads of Kim Kardashian, Carmen Electra, Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity, Tyra Banks, the programmers at MTV and VH1, John McCain, Dick Cheney, and the person on that Yahoo! chatroom that said they would never vote for Barack Obama because he's "too skinny."

Seriously, people?
This is a good sign.
They can't find any fault with Barack Obama.
He's "elitist," because he prefers arugula. He's "a fool" for telling people to fill up their tires, even though every expert agrees. He's "too skinny". If he eats fast food, he's "being fake and bending to the will of the people."
Give me a fucking break (four "fucks" in one blog!). Are people really that shallow?
Unfortunately, yes. Forget killing millions of Jews. Forget genocide in Darfur.
These are the people that should be wiped out, regardless of race, appearance, gender, or religion.
John McCain was trying to discuss problems on the "Iraq-Pakistan border."
There is no Iraq-Pakistan border. There is only Iran.
Iran, and you should run too. This is a very old, very confused, likely dangerous man. This man was middle-aged when William Howard Taft was just a young statesman. This man makes C. Montgomery Burns look like a toddler. I'm exaggerating, of course, but that's still no reason to vote for him.
I've never gotten this political in a blog before. This is a blog full of firsts.

Brian Wilson's coming to the Paramount Theater to perform his new album That Lucky Old Sun in its entirety the day after my birthday. YES. He is one of my all-time heroes. Listen to Pet Sounds or Smile to fully understand his genius.

I like to think of myself as a party animal, but the last time I was at a party and was given alcohol, I was really nervous and freaked out if someone took a picture. God forbid someone should put the evidence on the internet, like, say, a blog.
I like to think of myself as a drinker, but I've only been really drunk twice.
I like to think of myself as a songwriter, but I only like three of my 592063064 songs.
I like to think of myself as a person with a flowering social life, but these days that flower seems to be wilting."

Is it all in that pretty little head of yours? What goes on in that place in the dark? Well, I used to know a girl, and I could've sworn that her name was Veronica. She used to have a carefree mind of her own, with a delicate look in her eyes. These days I'm afraid she's not even sure if her name is Veronica."
-Elvis Costello, "Veronica"

That song speaks to me. It's about Elvis Costello's grandmother, who had Alzheimer's and couldn't remember who he was. My great-aunt has dementia. Sometimes she doesn't even remember her own brother. I'd like to see her again, but my dad would prefer that our memories of her remain pleasant. I feel bad about this. I feel like I'm being sheltered from the real world. What if, in their old age, my parents develop Alzheimer's or dementia? Will I know how to deal with it, short of reading an informational pamphlet?

Sigh.

I just reread most of this post. Blogging to an audience of, like, three has been therapeutic. Like talking to a psychiatrist who doesn't say anything, but just lets me talk.
I have issues, and I need to share them with someone.
There's just so many questions I have left unanswered.
But those are a mystery for another day.

-Jason

Try!

I'm A Loser

I can't sleep.
That's a lie.
I won't sleep.
I'm insanely bored, and I don't feel like sleeping, as tired as I am. Two nights ago I stayed up until 5, and last night I was up until 3. Granted it's summer, but I should have a decent reason for doing that, like having friends sleep over, or being out late doing something cool.
Well, I'd like to say I've been out doing cool things, but that would make me a dirty liar.
Since coming home from the blues jam Monday night, I haven't left the house, with the exception of walking my dog around the block.
Naturally, this time alone has given me time to reflect on aspects of my life, namely my childhood.
I've come to the conclusion that it sucked.
I had no grand adventures. I didn't have a wondrous, astounding, family vacation. Play-dates at my house were never more than one friend at a time (we tried two friends, but that didn't work because the friends weren't friends with each other). I also came to terms with the fact that I was a bossy little bastard.
I remember locking my friend Kathryn in my room and guarding the door because she wasn't agreeing with whatever nonsense I was spouting. Another incident recalled my friend David and I repeatedly switching between a toy guitar and drums because he wasn't starting on the right beat when we were attempting to play The Beatles' "Help" when we were six years old.
I was also a bit of a loner.
I remember being content sitting on the floor of our house in the Oakland hills pretending that the fingers on my left hand were The Beatles and my thumb was Brian Epstein, their manager. I remember meandering around the playground, singing Beatles songs to myself. I remember sitting alone, reading a book, instead of playing with my friends. Even worse, I remember choosing not to sit with my friends during lunch in first grade, choosing instead to sit with a kid named Tyler and his mom, Susie. I don't know why she was always eating lunch with him, but I remember it being nice that I had a sort of mother figure at school.
But would I do it all again?
Yes.
I would gladly go back to the days where Brian, Kevin, and I would play "Starship Troopers" on the playground at Sunday School. I would absolutely revisit the day when I went to David Hernandez's birthday party where no one could break the pinata, so David's dad climbed up on the roof and threw the candy off the roof. A large piece hit me in the head, causing me to burst into tears.
I'd definitely go back to third grade, when I met and became inseparable from Charlie. I'd go back to fourth grade, when Charlie and I became separable, and I met Tony, Blake, and Tameem.
I'd love to go back to fifth grade, when Tameem convinced me that Airwalk shoes allowed you to walk on air, and we won the free class trip to the San Francisco Zoo.
I'd revisit sixth grade, when childhood quickly faded, and my lunchtimes were spent with Tony reciting countless Family Guy episodes to me (I wouldn't actually see the show for another two years).
After that, things changed. I started liking girls. I started becoming less bossy. I became more popular, to the point where by eighth grade, the whole school knew my name. I started playing Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle (a story for another day).
Then I moved, and my ego was shattered when I realized that popularity doesn't move with you, and that my attitude, while echoing proud in Castro Valley, just made me sound like a jackass in Alameda. My sucky-great childhood was lost forever, causing me to fix the holes in my ego with duct tape.

Here you see (or, rather, read) the portrait of a broken man. A man who had everything. Looks, fame, friends, and love.
But then the fame left, followed by the love and the looks, and soon his friends were replaced with people who use him as comic relief, rather than a point at which they would converge to watch movies or hang out.

And that's why people say I sound like an asshole.

-Jason

I'm A Loser

Everyday I Have The Blues

I'm pretty pumped.
It's ironic that the title evokes sad images.
It should be "Every Monday I Have The Blues."
I just got back from the Monday night blues jam down at the Sausalito Cruising Club.
It's great. For $10, you get a pasta buffet, and (time permitting) a chance to play whatever instrument you play (in my case, guitar).
I had my Les Paul and a couple songs up my sleeve, and when my dad and I were called up, I "freed the beast," so to speak.
My dad lead us through Robert Johnson's "Walkin' Blues," which I soloed on. I felt it was a mediocre solo, but I played it, and people seemed to enjoy it. It seemed at first that the crowd mostly enjoyed seeing a fifteen year old (the youngest person there) on stage playing the blues.
Next song was "Out Of My Mind," the slow blues by the John Mayer Trio. I'm pretty proud that I was able to slip in a JM tune without anyone noticing. As soon as I started singing, the room got a little quieter. I guess they weren't expecting me to have a good voice. I soloed like a pro and sang my heart out.
Next song was "Crossroads." We did it more like Cream did it, as opposed to the original Robert Johnson recording, "Cross Road Blues."
Holy crap. I didn't know I could sing like that. It was a thrill to be able to sing that song with a full band (two guitars, bass, drums, keys).
Next we did a few blues with other singers. We closed our set with me singing the Chuck Berry classic, "Johnny B. Goode."
A couple years ago, I would play this in record key, which is C. Since then, my voice has dropped, but I didn't think to change the key, as I hadn't had a problem last time I sang it.
Bad idea.
Fortunately for me, the volume on the mic was turned way down, so they couldn't hear me.
*Phew.*
It was a great night, and I played my ass off.

I really don't mean to sound cocky and full of myself, but I'm just so pumped that I can't help but feel special.
I also feel kinda bad posting this here, because it's different from my other blogs. It's not philosophical, it's not a rant, it's not emotionally charged. It's a play-by-play of my evening.
But I had such a great time, I wanted to share it with you all.
All three or four readers (so far.)

Anyway, I intend to be back there some upcoming Monday. If you'd like to join me, lemme know.
Lemme? Really?
Let me know.

-Jason

Everyday I Have The Blues

Don't Stop Me Now

Things are going well since my last post, which was yesterday. Looking at the time, it was technically two days ago, but whatever.
I did an assessment of my recent experiences.
July 6 - I went to see New Orleans music legend Allen Toussaint.
July 9 - I went to see blues legend B.B. King.
July 16 - I'm going to see both Elvis Costello and The Police. I've re-psyched myself.
July 17 - I'm going to see my old music teacher (and local legend) Joe Simiele perform.
July 26 - I'm going to see John Mayer, and I'm taking three of my best friends.
In between, I've hung out with friends, I'm going to do some songwriting with Emily, and I've got three days left of summer school, which is about to free up my time.
What's more, I've got a legitimate band. Our name is pronounced "fo sho," but we're unsure of how we're gonna spell it. Either "Faux Chaud," which is real French, or "Faux Shaux," which is fake French.
I'm lead guitar and vocals, Justin "White Chocolate" Kent is vocals/drums, and Chris "No Current Nickname" Arellano is bass.
It's blues-rock. Modeled after the John Mayer Trio (big surprise there.), but we throw in some surprises. A little Traffic, a little Black Crowes, a little Panic At The Disco, a little everything.
Things are looking up. I'm on a roll.
In closing, let me present a video.



-Jason

Good Love Is On The Way

John Mayer sums it up best.
Good to go for whenever I'm needed
Bags are packed and I'm down by the door
Those lines are from the John Mayer Trio song "Good Love Is On The Way." The song discusses how the narrator took some time off from relationships after being dumped three years ago, but is now ready to love again, and is kinda desperate.
I can relate.
I've been single for 620 days, or about 20 months (Don't call me weird, I found a count-up clock on the internet). This past year and eight months has given me a lot of time to reflect on my relationship life (or lack thereof).
I know why Rachel and I broke up. Living in different cities, we couldn't see each other as often as we liked when the school year kicked into high gear. It was great while it lasted, and I have no regrets, other than not asking her out earlier than I did.
Since then, I've been the prime example of how not to attempt to start a relationship. I've come on too strong, too soon, too subtle, and I've waited too long. I've done everything wrong, and I've recognized that, and I can't fix it. This is causing my self-confidence to decrease slowly every day.
It's strange. I can walk through a stage door at a David Crosby concert and make conversation as if I hadn't sneaked backstage. I can approach Wavy Gravy at a restaurant, having recognized him without his clown makeup. I can perform Adam Sandler's "Hannukah Song" in front of 1,200 of me peers without cracking under the pressure. I can do all of these types of things, but I can't bring myself to face possible rejection.
I often find myself criticizing other people's relationships. "They're just like three-year-olds!" "He's such a terrible boyfriend; he never compliments her!" "This will never last."
Mostly, these comments are out of jealousy. I probably liked the girl in the relationship, and then found faults in their relationship so I could claim beyond a reasonable doubt that I would obviously be a better boyfriend, and that she should obviously be with me.
I say these things for me. I need reassurance that I'm a good guy, and I don't get it from anyone else.
When typing that last sentence, I thought "Why doesn't anyone reassure me? Am I a terrible person?" I don't think I'm a terrible person. Whenever I get these thoughts, I open my yearbook and read my favorite testimonial, which I will type up here:

Jason, Jason, Jason... I've known you for about 2 years now? I think I can honestly say you're one of the most interesting people I've ever met. :-) Haha but really, in a good way. You always are there to make situations more fun and never hesitate to break an awkward silence. You are freakin' *RAW* at guitar & you don't brag about it. :-) You're also an amazing actor. I've had so much fun being in West Side Story, Beauty & The Beast, & Fiddler On The Roof with you. We've been brother & sister, semi-enemies (ahh I forgot High School Musical!...ahaha), & we've both fawned over the same guy (not like that, I'm talking about Gaston...ahaha Phil). It's such a blast to work with you & be around you. One of the great things about you is that you take different routes than other people (ahaha "The Road Not Taken"), not on purpose, but because you do what you want to do, not what everyone else does or what other people want you to do. I'm really glad I'm friends with you. You're really a great guy; you're very considerate of how other people feel. You always know how to make me laugh until I can hardly breathe & am basically falling on the ground. You always come out of bad situations with a smile. Really, I don't think I know anyone that can handle drama/trouble/everything the world can thrown at you, better than you. With that said, you have to deal with way more than you deserve. With all your talents & your *sparkly* personality, I know you have a bright future & I hope we'll still be friends so I can see you become the wonderful man you will be. Don't let anyone ever convince you that you are something you're not because you really are a great person. I hope you'll look back on these years and think of me as fondly [cheesy old person word] as I will think of you. :-) I love all the great times we've had. "Have you seen old people?" Bason Jerk, you are a great Jew and a great friend. :-) & I will always remember your PB&J's on challah. Thanks for putting up with me all this time.

Kristin wrote that, and it's one of the sincerest compliments I've ever received. I've read and re-read it over and over, amazed that someone regards me that highly.
When I was writing in her yearbook, I hadn't seen her message yet, and I couldn't put into words how much I'm constantly blown away by her talent and personality, and how I love her [as a friend]. I couldn't verbalize it, until I read what she wrote. I feel the exact same way, except for the Jewish part and the guitar part. She's a beast at piano.
Anyway, I'm rambling on about her rambling.

New subject?
Sure.
Whenever I'm preparing for a concert, I listen almost exclusively to that artist. I did it for Paul McCartney, Simon & Garfunkel, Steely Dan, Aerosmith, and The Police. For this upcoming concert, Elvis Costello & The Imposters and The Police, I listened to six different Elvis Costello albums to familiarize myself with his brilliant work, and I got really excited, even more so than for The Police, as I've seen them before and know what to expect.
Then we got the John Mayer tickets.
I'm not gonna lie. He's my all-time ultimate hero. He's one of the most influential musicians I've ever heard. Don't believe me? Listen to "Room For Squares." He's also one of the greatest guitarists I've ever heard. Listen to "Try! John Mayer Trio Live in Concert." I basically love him and everything about him. I got his new live album "Where The Light Is" and that got me re-hooked. I am currently on a John Mayer binge, which is a bit of a problem. The Elvis Costello/Police concert is in two days, and John Mayer's not for another week and a half. I psyched myself for EC/The Police too early (February) and, with the help of John Mayer, kind of un-psyched myself. Don't get me wrong, I think Elvis Costello's a brilliant songwriter and Sting's a great singer, but I'm more looking forward to John Mayer.
Perhaps it's because I'm going to the JM concert with Chris and Emily and Gina, whereas I'm going to the Police with my family, or perhaps it's because we have lawn seats for the Police and real seats for JM, or just for no reason at all, but I'm super-duper-incredibly-bad-writing-made-up-words excited for John Mayer. I <3 style="font-style: italic;">Scrubs
But seriously folks.

-Jason

Good Love Is On The Way

Losing My Religion

Or, more accurately, my faith in humanity.
Summer School's a bitch.
Especially when it's not your fault.
Well, not entirely. But if you were brought up being told, "do the hard homework first, and save the easy homework for later," then you'd do your biology, your algebra, your french, your P.E. study sheet, your drama monologue, and then Mr. Stein's english homework. Well, you would if you're me, and not somebody with the I.Q. of a wet towel.
That's how I did it, but I overshot it. I put off the english homework until it was too late. Doing this too many times caused me to recieve an F from what would seem like my dream teacher, a Jew from New Jersey who loves to talk. He sounds like he'd be the older version of me. Except I have a brain. His introduction to teaching us the Hero's Journey involved watching the made-for-TV version of "The Odyssey" while eating a hero sandwich. Needless to say, I wanted out.
Second semester, I was placed in the Media Academy english class. Higher placement than regular english, but not quite EXP. I was fine with that. In fact, I was so fine with that, I recieved an A.
The summer passed with no inconveniences, excluding the little shits that joined High School Musical camp expecting Zac Efron to whisk them off into the sunset on a unicorn that looks like Vanessa Hudgens. Another year passed, taking with it the realization that I needed those 5 credits at some point, and I might as well do it this summer, because I wasn't doing drama camp for the first time in eight years because of the aforementioned little shits.
I reluctantly agreed.
Big mistake.
My teacher, Mr. Douglas, has been doing an activity called "Possible Selves" where we try and figure out what we want to do with our lives, and how we're going to get there. I know all that. I want to be a world-renowned successful musician (a down-to-earth term for "rock star") and I have several plans mapped out on how to do that. May I remind you, I'm not a failure.
Mr. Douglas asked all of us to write it down. I obliged, but most of the other kids decided they had better things to do with their hands, and that they'd rather just talk about it, loudly.
"N*gga, I'ma be a coke dealer, n*gga."
"Yeah, n*gga?"
"N*gga yeah. N*gga, I'ma be a kingpin, n*gga!"
Notice how they bookend their sentences with the N word. This is what I have to endure, four hours a day, five days a week. Most of the time is spent yelling at them, the rest listening to Sissy Spacek read "To Kill A Mockingbird," during which time I sleep, having read the assigned chapters at home.
I almost feel bad for these kids.
Almost.
One kid was talking about how his 38-year-old dad is divorcing his 25-year-old stepmom. This lets us know that they have broken home lives, made obvious not only by the divorce, but by the fact his stepmother is closer to his age than his dad's.
He proceeded to talk about the time he smoked a blunt that was laced with crack cocaine.
Nice classroom talk. And you know the N word was all over that story.
Ten more class days...

It's amazing how crappy life has been since the glory days, here described by Bob Dylan:

"Back to the Starting Point! The kickoff, Hebrew letters on the wall, Victor Hugo's house in Paris, NYC in early autumn, leaves flying in the park, the clock strikes Eight, Bong - I dropped a double brandy & tried to recall the events... beer halls & pinballs, polka bands, barbwire & thrashing clowns, objects, headwinds & snowstorms, family outings with strangers - Furious gals with garters & smeared lips on bar stools that stank from sweating pussy - doing the Hula - perfect priests in overhauls, glassy eyed Insomnia! Space guys off duty with big dicks & duck tails all wired up and voting for Eisenhower, waving flags & jumping off of fire engines, getting killed on motorcycles whatever - We sensed each other beneath the mask, pitched a tent in the street & joined the traveling circus, love at first sight! History became a lie! The sideshow took over - what a sight... the threshold of the modern bomb, temples of the Pawhee, the cowboy salute, the Arapahoe, snapshots of Apache poets searching thru the ruins for a glimpse of Buddha - I lit out fur parts unknown, found Jacob's ladder up against an adobe wall & bought a serpent from a passing angel - Yeah, the ole days are gone forever and the new ones ain't far behind, the laughter is fading away, echoes of a star, of Energy Vampires in the Gone world going wild! Drinking the blood of innocent people, Innocent lambs! The Wretched of the Earth, my brothers of the flood, cities of the flesh - Milwaukee, Ann Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South Dakota, Duluth! Duluth - where Baudelaire lived & Goya cashed in his chips, where Joshua brought the house down! From there, it was straight up - a little jolt of Mexico, and some good Luck, a little power over the grave, some more brandy & the teeth of a lion & a compass"

On second thought, maybe it's all relative.

I want to conquer it all, and be respected for all of it.
I want to be in music, primarily.
I want to write, but I don't want people to buy my books just because they like my music.
I want to draw and paint, but I don't want people to buy my artwork just because it's by me.
I want to make movies, but I don't want people to see my movies because they're by me. Because then, I'd have the next "Crossroads" or "Glitter" instead of the next "A Hard Day's Night."
I want to teach a class, but I don't want people to sign up for it just because I'm teaching it.
I want to conquer it all.


Why do people buy t-shirts of a band they've never heard of?
And why do people thing voting McCain is a great idea?
Why are people so gullible?
If I show my summer school teacher the paper proving I scored 100% on the english multiple-choice section of the CAHSEE exam, will he let me stop going?
What about "Tha Carter III" makes it a masterpiece, compared to actual masterpieces by Brian Wilson, Beethoven, and The Beatles?
And most importantly,
What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?

-Jason

Losing My Religion

Zebras are Reactionaries, Antelopes are Missionaries...

Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo.
I do believe it, I do believe it's true.
Not to sound emo, but music's my only friend. I went to Rozy's party yesterday. After Shohei and Emily and Monica and The Attic Sounds and Rozy and Megan played, I went up. I'll admit I was nervous, but for all the wrong reasons. I wasn't nervous because the spotlight would be on me. Frankly, I love that. It was the I feared they'd overanalyze my songs, like I do. I tell people too much. I trust them too easily. And then I write a melody and put down some words, and realize that it can be interpreted to be my feelings on the latest drama, which it's often not, but the sad part is that I realize these things first, and end up not playing the song. I was going to play 5 originals yesterday. I ended up only playing 3. I also played 5 covers. It's a fair statement to say that every good song has been written, but, then again, John Mayer's still cranking out things, Paul McCartney's got a good song every so often, and Brian Wilson can write three notes that pwn my entire body of work. And he probably wouldn't say pwn. And it's not just melodically, but lyrically. And there are few better lyricists than the irreprehensible Paul Simon:

Time it was,

And what a time it was,

It was...

A time of innocence,

A time of confidences.

Long ago...it must be....

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories,

They're all that's left of you.

Sheer genius. John Mayer's lyrics are usually amazing, Elvis Costello's got some fantastic stuff, but this is the highest you can get. It's poetry. Dickinson's got nothing on this:

Old friends,

Old friends,

Sat on their park bench

Like bookends.

A newspaper blown through the grass

Fall on the round toes

On the high shoes

Of the old friends.

Old friends,

Winter companions,

The old men
Lost in their overcoats,

Waiting for the sunset.

The sounds of the city,
Sifting through trees,

Settle like dust
On the the shoulders
Of the old friends.
Can you imagine us
Years from today,

Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
To be seventy,

Old friends,

Memory brushes the same years,

Silently sharing the same fear....

It's not long until school lets out. 24 more days in school. It's a scary thought, knowing there's two years and 24 days until I'm legally done with school. I'm just getting accustomed to this school, and to this year's classes and teachers, and POOF.

Good things about next year:

• Being an upperclassman/Seniority
• No 0 Period P.E.
• Madame Gutleben/Not doing anything in French class
• Driver's Licence
• APUSH
• A job
• More privileges

Bad things about next year:

• Still not being a Senior
• 0 Period Chem
• Madame Gutleben/Not learning anything in French class
• Gas prices
• APUSH homework
• A job
• More responsibilities

  I want to write. I don't want to be a writer. I want to write some piece of music or poetry or fiction that's so unbelievably emotional, so powerful and understated, that I can't believe I wrote it. I have the tools, all I need is the inspiration.

-Jason

At The Zoo

It's Getting Better All The Time

Today was good.
In fact, it was damn near grand.
It was the kind of day that was exciting, even though nothing happened. We were all a little jealous of Brendan and Nathan, because they saw Mike Dirnt [of Green Day] walking down Park Street yesterday after school. We then became mad at them, because they didn't say anything to him. That was exciting.
Kelly is now the interim President of Drama Club. Donny has stepped down, partially because he's not in the drama class anymore, and partially because his schedule's been hectic. When we hold elections next week, everyone will vote for Kelly to be next year's president as well, and I'll run for Vice President, because I'll have seniority next year (technically it's Juniority, but that just sounds stupid) and because I love drama (the acting kind, not the school kind).
We worked on Alky in Drama class, and all [three of] the freshman and some of the stupid sophomores are working themselves into a shit because they think they'll be so cool if they're actually drinking on stage.

Summer school aside, I'm pretty psyched for summer vacation. The day after we get out of school, I'm leaving for Cleveland for a week. I'm seeing Fastball (remember them?) at the Alameda County fair July 1st, Elvis Costello [for the first time] and The Police [for the 2nd time] at Concord (excuse me, Sleep Train) Pavillion on July 16, and John Mayer at Shoreline Ampitheater on July 26.
I'm having a bit of trouble psyching myself out for The Police concert, mostly because I've seen them already on this tour and I know what to expect (the set list, the lights, etc.). I am, however, unbelievably pumped to see Elvis Costello. Like, supremely pumped. He's mastered every genre of music that exists (because rap is not music). He's done classical, rock, disco, techno, pop, country, baroque-pop, funk, everything. He's a musical encyclopedia.
I'm also supremely juiced for John Mayer, partially because I'm taking three of my best friends with me. Chris is for-reals a John Mayer fanatic, Gina's never been to a concert and loves JM, and Emily also loves John Mayer (she almost went to see him with me at the Bridge School Benefit concert in October, but had to stay home), so this is to make up for that, and because she's awesome.
I'm so psyched, I'm already having dreams at night about the concert, just like when I psyched myself out for Disneyland and had two months worth of Disneyland dreams leading up to the actual trip.

But seriously, folks, Mike Dirnt! Holy crap. I probably would've shit myself. Actually, probably not, but I would've at least asked him for an autograph and a picture with him.
Come to think of it, I may have seem him on Park St. on a different occasion. Apparently he's a regular at the Peet's, so chances are I saw him, thought he looked familiar, and carried on with my life.

Oh, well.

-Jason

A Simple Hello.

Today was pretty good.
And I realized something.
My real, true, close friends are the ones who say "hi" to me when they see me. Even just passing me in the halls. I realize these people are the friends I have no complaints about, the friends who are nice and sweet and smart, and who unload their drama on me, because they know I'm a good listener and they can get good advice from me. They are the friends who keep their plans, and who make plans, just to hang out. We share secrets, we cry on each other's shoulders, and we just talk about what's going on in the moment. The friends who ask me to sing because they like my voice, not because they like a certain song. The friends who ask me to perform at events, not because a full band cancelled, but because they like my music. These are the friends I really love, and they are the people care who enough to say "hi," without anyone having said "hi" first.
I love these friends to death.

As far as my other friends go, I'm trying to get out of any label that's been stuck on me. I'm spending a little more time thinking before I speak, and a little more time listening and really comprehending what people say, so I can bring these things up later and share a nostalgic laugh. I want enough respect that these people will say "hi" as well.

And don't get any ideas that I'll like you just because you say "hi" to me. If I didn't like you before, chances are I won't change my mind because of a simple hello. It's not a magic wand that can be waved, it's just a signal that my friends give to show their appreciation.
It's amazing what a simple hello can do.



I had to make up the English portion of the California High School Exit Exam (CAHSEE) today. As soon as the bell rang, I went straight to the cafeteria, and sat there for half an hour before Mrs. Porter finally shut up about why we need #2 pencils. I finished the first multiple-choice question and the essay portion in about forty-five minutes. I took a nap for over an hour before I heard Mrs. Porter say, "For those of you still working on the test, you have half an hour left."
Half an hour later, we got a break. A five-minute break. We sat back down and took the second multiple-choice section, which took me less than 30 minutes. I continued onto the questionaire ("What do you think you will do if you don't pass the CAHSEE?" It's impossible to fail), turned in my test, and was permitted to leave. Sweet Jesus.
I went to the last ten minutes of history, then choir.
Thank God we did sectionals in choir. We [the guys section] sang through the material once and goofed off while the girls kept singing. The guys' part to "O Fortuna" isn't hard, no more than four notes, so we were home free for 86 minutes.
In drama, we cast Alky, the play about teenagers at an alcohol-filled party. Instead of being cast as Tay, the persuasive alcoholic who sets his girlfriend up to be raped, or as Ira, the musician who's been drinking beer since he was little, I'm in the background as Kid #2, which is fine. I'm glad I don't have to say any of those god-awful lines ("A brewski for me-ski!"). And the best part is the ending, in which four people die and one person is permanently mentally damaged. Three of the people are hit and killed by the narrator. Spoiler alert! It's one of those plays with a moral, so it's not like the audience doesn't see that coming.

I'm going to start analyzing and explaining my songs tomorrow. I'm sure you can't wait.

-Jason

The Aura Of Happiness, Vanished?

It's Emily's birthday.
She's 18.
That got me thinking. At midnight, childhood disappears. Forever. The moment it's your eighteenth birthday, any thoughts of you as a child instantly vanish. No more "You don't know anything. You're just seventeen." Now you get the "Well, she is eighteen, I think we can trust her."
How weird does that feel? One second, you're a child (albeit a teenager), the next you're [legally] an adult. You can have sex with other adults and neither of you can be tried (sans rape). You can vote. You can buy cigarettes (but why would you?). Realistically, though, the birthday is just the celebration of having not died for the past 365 days. And Emily's celebrating having not died for the past 6,574 days.
And the day you turn eighteen, the wonderful U.S. Military sends you a giant packet of crap about why you should join the army, navy, coast guard, army reserve, navy seals, the circus, et cetera. Because you're eighteen now, you're obviously mature enough and qualified to hold and operate a gun and kill people for sport. You're obviously more mature than you were yesterday, when you were a know-nothing seventeen-year-old. Here. Have a beer. Oh, that's right. You're not 21. Well then, just have this rifle, this ammo, and this box of active grenades. Have fun, try not to get hurt. You're still young. You shouldn't be drinking. Just go kill innocent people in the meantime.
Seriously, Army?
You're seriously going to do that?
Boy. I really don't feel safe right now. Not that I don't trust Emily's judgement. She's smart enough not to join the army and she's not one to be near guns. Except water guns. Just because you're an adult doesn't mean you're grown up, right? Right.



I'm starting to enjoy math class. It's an easy period to nap in and not miss anything. She usually just makes Corny Indiana Jokes the whole time.
I'm almost tired of history class. At this point, she's just repeating herself when it comes to directions for the research paper.
I'm about to crack in english class. I just can't take it anymore. Pardon my french, but we're not retarded, you nasal-voiced asswipe. And I've had it with Nick. For reals. Wipe that stupid grin off your face and contribute to humanity. Can you do me a favor and not be a dick?
I'm getting kinda bugged in French class. We're doing waaay too much, but maybe it's because she knows that we won't learn as much in "Madoom's" class next year.
I'm pretty tired of choir. I'm actually glad I'm not doing it next year. Hidalgo's just too quiet when he talks, and when we don't hear him, he flips a shit and yells at us: "Three rows, ladies and gentlemen. Three rows. Three rows!" It's enough to drive someone mad.
Drama's still fun, though.



I did a bit of thinking over the weekend, and I figured that it was just a phase I was going through, and I don't like her like that anymore.
But I talked to her today, and I realized "No, I still really like her. A lot."
And I guess I'll just have to wait until her phase is over.



To my friends: I'm tired of going along with the "awkward" thing. I'm just tired of it. It's a role I've fallen into, like "annoying," back in elementary school. Sure, I might have some awkward moments, but who the fuck doesn't? I'm tired of some of you being a bitch to me "because it's fun" or because I "won't argue back." One of these days, real soon, I will. Stop groaning at everything I say that could possibly be a double-entendre, especially when I don't mean it that way. Stop holding something that happened a year ago over my head. Stop being a shit about it. What's done is done. Stop interrupting me to talk with someone else about a youtube video of a cat falling asleep while I'm in the middle of a story. Stop making me be the guy you invite to your house only because everyone else ditched you. Stop making me change my plans so we can all do something, then change your mind at the very last minute, so that I have to re-rearrange. Stop thinking I'm stupid because I had a terrible math teacher a couple years back and therefore are currently in geometry. Don't be nice to me only when I remind you I got you John Mayer tickets. Don't take everything I say so seriously, because when I am serious, you might just think I'm kidding.
Fucking enough already. I might be a little younger than you, but I'm old enough to know when people are being total assholes.
I have to put up with this on a daily basis. A lot of times the only person I like is myself.
And people wonder why I'm cocky.
This doesn't apply to all of you. Just some of you.
I love you all dearly, but this has got to stop.
Glad to get that off of my chest.


Happy Birthday, Emily.
You're the best. And none of that applies to you.

-Jason

The Truth Box, Part One

I conformed.
I got a Truth Box for my myspace.
Here's what I got, along with my responses to them:

ive always found you a lil bit annoying
First off, kudos on the spelling, punctuation, and capitalization. You clearly have absolutely no time in your day to hit the SHIFT, apostrophe, and t & e buttons. Anyway, you're just a little too generic. How am I annoying?

you're annoying because you're hella arrogant and think too much about yourself. you think you're hella good at everything and you always have to brag about every little thing. honestly thats you're only problem cause you're a good guy, you just gotta lay off yourself.
Whoever this is has learned the apostrophe well, but they're still shaky on the capitalization. Finally, some constructive criticism. I do think about myself alot, but perhaps with Soulja Boy ruling the charts, the economy tanking with gas prices peaking, and with my friends' low self-esteem, the only person I can turn to is myself. I do think I'm pretty good at a lot of things because someone has yet to show me up (except Lisa, but that's okay because she's cool). If you're going to be in the entertainment business, you have to hold yourself highly, or else you'll be squished. I brag about things because I try to make each day spectacular, and I'd like to share it with people.

s***** has a much better chance with a**** than you, and i know that for a fact. also you're not very good at guitar at all or any other instrument. and you're a really bad singer. but you're a good person so thats a start.
I'm done with grammatical checks. Humanity has failed me.
Okay. So maybe he does. Why be a shit about it and rub it in my face? Why not let a boy dream?
I'm not good at guitar? I may not be Eddie Van Halen, but I'm sure as hell better than you. You'd have to try really hard to play guitar for eight years and suck. It's like not being able to add in 10th grade. I can't play any other instruments? Then why do I play piano for choir? Why am I probably ten times better than you? I'm a bad singer? Tell that to the directors of the 15+ musicals I've been in, along with the directors of two award-winning choirs. I'm not trying to be cocky, I'm just trying to prove you wrong. And I think I'm winning.

you're always trying to "one up" people and its really annoying cause you're not very talented at anything except for being annoying.
If I've one-upped you, it's probably because I'm trying to boost my self-esteem while you spend precious energy trying to make me feel like crap.

you've been an amazing friend to me over the years! you're are so fun to hang out with and you can always make me laugh. Everyone should bow down to this god.
Thank you! Chances are, you're just as amazing as a friend. As far as bowing down goes, you don't need to actually bow. I'd just like a little more respect, to make up for assholes like the above few people.

I think you're a good person. I wish you would sing more often. You're probably going to guess who sent this.
I'm actually not sure who sent this, but thank you. I should sing more often. Right now I'm getting over a cold, but I'll start up again soon.

I think Jason is HELLLLLLLLA tight i actually once took a video of him singing and playing the piano on my phone cuz he is that raw. hes fuckin hilarious and he knows sooooooo much about the beatles (more than me which is weird) so if you hated on him/his musical abilities maybe you should get a life and learn what real music is like cuz you obviously dont know. I LOVE YOU JASON!!!!!!
I love you too, Darrah.

your song is great.
I'm assuming you're referring to "Back In Your Boat." I rather like that one. Not lyrically, but musically. The verses are straight-up Billy Preston, and the chorus would fit in on Music From Big Pink by The Band. The lyrics were my true feelings for that person at the time. I don't much care for the lyrics, but I don't know of anything else I could've written to that melody.
If you're not referring to that one, I'll just assume you're referring to another one of my songs. The ones I perform publicly are the ones I like, so thank you. I like it too.

you are extremely cokcy and arrogant, and its an embaressment that you have been playing guitar for however long youve been playing
I really don't think I'm that cokcy. My cockyness and arrogance are just to make up for a few minor insecurities. For instance, I think my nose is a little too big. I also don't like the fact that with age I'm losing my vocal range. It's also upsetting that I'm still failing math. It's a pet ego, really. Most of what I proclaim myself excellent at is usually pretty sarcastic, like "I just figured out the guitar part to this one Belle and Sebastian song, so now I've completely mastered the guitar."
Is anyone really like that?
It's an embarrasment that I've been playing guitar for eight years? What the fuck? How is that an embarrasment? Is John Mayer an embarrasment? He's been playing for ten more years than I have. Is Eddie Van Halen an embarrasment? He's been playing since the 60's, at least. Were Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix embarrasments? They played for most of their lives. I think what you mean to say is "It's an embarrasment that you've been playing for eight years and are only at your current skill level." That's also a load of crap. Try playing guitar. Chances are, if you come close to my skill level, it'll sure take more than eight years.
Oh, and your spelling is embaressing.

you don't suck, whoever wrote those things are idiotic
you have a great voice and are incredibly funny
ignore those comments :)
anyone who could play guitar like you is worth spending time with
Thanks. You're a good person. Not someone wasting precious breath (oh, what a shame) trying to put me down for your own sick pleasure. Thank you a lot. Emily, I'm guessing.

This is what I've got so far. Call me cocky, but I'd rather call [most] of these people ignorant. They'll probably grow up, by a gun, vote Republican, and perish in the great Cheeseburger Famine of 2034.

*sigh*

-Jason