I ride my bike around at night in Los Angeles. I watch tourists, performers, and crackheads mingle in this pseudo-reality known as Hollywood. On the off chance that a cracky found some acid you might catch an interesting side-show. Who knows. Was that Eva Longoria? Maybe. Does whistling from a hydrolic enabled low-rider at pedestrians count as courtship? Yes.
The question is, my friend, what will it take to become one of these side show freaks that spends their evenings among the touristas? And the answer is simple muchacho. A Casio keyboard.
My next door neighbor's ex-girlfriend left behind a big ass old school Casio that I have been jamming the fuck out on recently. For some reason, even though I have very little to no musical talent, I'm a regular Tiesto on this thing. For the past week or so I have been nonstop beatmaking, guitar riffing, banjo plucking and special effect washing song after song. I can't record them yet, but I intend to take my act to the streets with some acoustic guitar help from my friend Wes. We're gona blow these tripped out crackhead's minds, I can't wait.
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