If you are a band and I recently deleted you...here is why.

This is a repost from my original myspace blog:

I apologize, but it's time to tighten up the reins around here and I have, by more than half and probably then some. Sure, it was my fault but now you are clogging up my chi and I cannot take it anymore.

I was up to almost 1000 friends. I am that person that accepted every band request that came in, in the name of art. Art for art's sake, but NO MORE. I've turned to my better judgement--to the repository of my own personal predilections. Yes, I have those now and they know what they like and are tired of being silenced.

I've been sifting through the wine cellar that is my myspace friend list. I've sniffed and swirled your music, letting your tannin penetrate my eager nostrils. True, some of these were short, quick whiffs, but still, the point is that I've given you a chance before I red-x'd you. In fact, I probably hand out more benefits of the doubt than the Social Security office, but that's a story for another day.

I've been looking at your profile pics for 4 long years. Some of you haven't even logged on in all that time, some haven't even changed your profile pic. You just sit there, ogling me all day, sometimes when I'm not even home. Well listen up, Mr. and Mrs. Static-X, there will be no more waiting for Krizzle to do the next, circus trick. No more reproachful mocking of my daily high-jinks.

No more wondering "did that space-cadet lock herself out of the house again or is today's order another predictable, depressing poem about lost love? Think I'll log on, I need good laugh." WELL NOT TODAY, ubiquity. You've taken me for granted. I'm out.

Do you even exist and if you so, who are you? How are we connected, other than by this flimsy thread of high-speed internet connectivity? I feel so naked and exposed under the light of your absolute, unbarred scrutiny. I don't even know you! Yes, I know this is "myspace", a place for strangers to converge around each other's daily miseries, outbursts, sparkley tags and occasional celebrations, but this cyber-barbecue has gotten way outta hand. I've moved on to more tangible realities---namely, Facebook.

And I've called in reinforcements, as well. So stop fanning the flames, myspacers. So much voice and such little discretion. I mean, honest to God, I received a friend request from Quizno's last week. I am not KIDDING. Quiznos, goddammit. Something is wrong with this picture. It's a sad state of affairs when the fast-sandwich makers of America start reading your daily blogs and dripping their Aus jus all over your heart-felt, arcane, meanderings. GET OUT OF MY GARDEN, QUIZNOS! You're dribbling your pork juices all over my organic cucumbers. AND you are SO NOT 23 years old, from California and a Gemini. Stop taunting me with your toasty breads and layers of folded MEATS. Way to toy with my emotions! SICK.

So I thought a little myspace-fengshui was in order. That, and I upgraded to Pro on www.flickr.com, which is a nifty, little site that you might want to check out. It's more photog-friendly and has some great tools.

So, if I deleted your band, it is because you fell under one or more of the following criteria:

A) Your music is pure, unabated "ka-ka".

B) I don't remember adding you in my newfangled, manic myspace fervor three years ago. The proverbial mood stabilizers have since kicked in. You have to go.

C) The terms "nigga" "bitch" and "ho" are not presently in my vernacular, save for satirical hyperbole. Sorry, I am not THAT teacher. And if you feel the need to use those term in your lyrics, could you limit it to no more than 150 times in one song? Gracias. In addition, I already live in an economically-deprived area and I don't need to hear about how you're gonna "bust out your mac-10 and blast me". I have PTSD as it is going to the grocery store. That's not how I take my hip-hop. I have the Foundation, the Roots and Dead Prez. So thanks, but NO thanks.

D) You apparently thought you were "THE ONE" and also "THE ONLY" in addition to "WORLDWIDE" and you are clearly not. Bub-bye.

E) I love acoustic/folk/indie/rock just as much as the next gal, but Christ on a Cracker, could you please fade the introspective self-doubt down a notch or two? I'm emotional enough and I spend plenty of hours alone as it is, wandering through the fields, psycho-analyzing myself, wondering why the world is so effed up, how come my childhood sucked? Why am I in this field? Did I leave the coffee-pot on, etc?

Please write some more unpredictable lyrics or at the very least, add some synth to the mix. I'll even settle for some distracting noises. How about Ostrich mating sounds? Very relaxing from what I hear.

F) Same goes for some of you in the neo-soul/R&B community. I really do not need to hear another song about where you want to lick me tonight? Well maybe I do, but not 100 times over. Something risky? Courageous? different? I don't care. Lay it on me. I'll take it.

G) Your "motivational-speaker" looking pic tipped me off and it turns out you are selling vitamins, some kind of miracle elixir or better yet, can clue me in on the secrets of "how to get rich overnight". I'm much more interested in learning how to breathe, macrame or sleep. Gone Baby----GONE.

H) You recently bulletined a promo for the extremely low-budget "strip-club" (oops, i meant to say "premier urban gentleman's club) commercial you did and I'm not talking about you AT ALL, Fancy Ray.

I) My doom, black, grind-core, Metal phase has ended. Sorry for my fickleness. I was reliving my adolescence. It's over (for now).

J) My dog told me to delete you because you're "cheap".

J.a) (For the laypeople) I emailed you...over a 2 weeks ago about getting together or an otherwise important matter. I see you've read the email. I understand your busy, but you still haven't gotten back to me via phone, email or otherwise. I'm not a dentist. I don't pull teeth for a living. Peace out.

K) And lastly, I realized that your profile is host to a giant picture of you or someone you respect highly in a cute, little thong, "shakin' that ass"- "poppin' it like it's hot" and your last 20 comments are links to free ringtones and Coach bags. I am SO done with you. You should have seen this coming. Drop your key in the mailbox, please.

So there you have it. I've allowed my wine cellar to devolve into a broken-down, communal Winnebago and I need you to stop throwin' your used "scratchies" all over my dashboard. I love you all -- myspace or not, but I'm lettin' ya off at the next stop. We are all in this together, no matter what, so please do not be offended. It's ONLY a website and I know somehow you will find it in your soul to carry on without me.

Paz, Luz y Amor.

Eternally yours,
Krizzle

Sometimes you feel like a complete and utter senile-headcase

Tonight I arrived home to find my backdoor completely wide open...swingin' in the rainy breeze.

My first reaction was "WTF!??? Literally, I screamed the letters "W-T and F.

I cased the place. Laptop, check. Bass, check. Creepy dude with a knife, uncheck.

What? Huh? Then I hear LOUD knocking on the walls. Can't tell if it's coming from the basement or the tenant nextdoor. I run out to the bulkhead, phone and knife in hand, ready to unleash a heavy crescent kick to the face.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I figured it was the plumber or something and if so, had he let himself in? Cuz that would not be cool at all and I would be reading Mr. Roto-Rooter the Tenants Bill of Rights from Rote. Root. Roto?

Bulkhead was closed with leaves all over it. So I knock on my neighbor's door. She and her partner are banging stuff (or possibly each other--she was kinda sweaty) and she apologizes profusely to which i interject, explaining my whole mental lapse. And then she asks me if she can use my parking space tomorrow b/c she is moving......back to Maryland. I'm like "of course". But in my mind, i'm thinking wow..she literally just moved here in August. Oh well. Seasons change. People change. And then they move back to Baltimore, I suppose. Must be the crabcakes. I personally am having a fantasy about Nashville right now. Don't ask me why. I don't like country, but I like Tennessee. Not the part that still reminisces about the Civil War, but the other parts, like Nashville. This one time I saw a bear in the Smokey Mountains and I made Theron come out of the tent with me so I could pee. That was funny, because I ended up peeing too close to Kevin's really expensive tent and..well...I didn't get attacked by a bear! That's the important lesson here, kids.

And I honestly DO NOT recall leaving the door wide open and unlocked. I have to lock the bolt with the key. I mean, who forgets that?

Answer=ME.

Yea, in my sleep-deprived rush out the door with like 6 bags (minimalist by even my standards), a coffee, water, a kong, and a dog, it appears I forgot not only to lock my door, but also to close it. Yay, senility!

I'm told we peak intellectually at 20 years of age. So I guess I don't feel so alone in saying "it's all downhill from here, people!" And now I can exuse my own stupidity. It seems to work for lots of other people, why not me? It's my fucking turn!

Seriously. I need some Algebraic Algorithms or something. Cryptography, Symbolic Computation, Robotics? I'm not too sharp since I've not taken a class in over a year. I misspell A LOT. I prob. just mispelled "mispell'...and possibly "LOT".
I feel like a stoner who doesn't smoke pot. I feel like an Elder with a penchant for being 30-something.

But alas, I now have the satisfaction of knowing my neighborhood is fairly innocuous or just can't be bothered with my pittance of material aquisitions. My camera was with me, of course.

There is one little kid that rides around here on his bike all the time that is a little bit of a pest. Today I tried to take a photo of him, but he was wearing a mask. He's a cute little kid until he opens his mouth. The kid curses like a rodeo clown. I would curse a lot if I were a rodeo clown, too. I mean, at that point, it's fair to say you've earned it. You're in a clown costume getting chased by an angry bull. That's a rough gig, but I digress.

There it goes again.

And I did try out a crescent kick last night, missing Tina's face by an eight of a centimeter. I didn't mean it, Tina. I'm sorry I made you cry and crouch down in the fetal position, melting into a quivering ball of protoplasm. I will think next time before I unleash my Kung-Fu fury on you like that. I mean, sometimes I just gotta let out my inner David Lee Roth, you know what I mean? You know what I mean.

It's an incurable condition that cannot be helped. Don't even TRY to fight it.

You know why? Because I’m a superhero. I’m Batman. The End.

I love my nephews and Tina's sneakers and Chris' Tuna Casserole and Jazz and my new bass. Pow! Pow! Pow! POW! POW! POW!!!!!!

Guess i'm not the only one having Halloween withdrawals:

to the dude at daddy’s ..(not mick or glen)..feel free to kiss my derierre.

I went in there tonight to buy a gig-bag for my beautiful, new candy-apple-red bass.

I should have talked to Glen as planned, not you, you moron, but alas Glen was busy being a human being, unlike you, you complete ass-clown. But you asked if I needed help and I said "yes."

I should have known better when you said you "only had hard-shelled cases" that you were lying. You are a music store. When the fuck do you sell out of gig-bags? That's like going to the bank and there out of money. Are you serious? You can't be serious.

But here is where you really added insult to injury.

When I declined the purchase of the $115 dollar hard-shell case, (ultimately, because of you)...don't feign that maybe there's stock of gig-bags at another store, run over to your computer just to add levity to the charade , press one key and instantly discover that you actually do have gig-bags in stock....2 left in fact..in this store! Did the computer say YES, CAROL!?

And then you're all like "wow, i must have missed that before". You clearly have mistaken me for Sally Slopsocks who resides at 12 Gullible Lane, Totally Naive, Massachusetts. Nope. Not this Sally. In fact, you might have a retained a customer had you just been a tad more honest. No, not even the fact that you know my brother (who alone has leveraged thousands of dollars at your store) phased your little piddly.

So, bite me.

Here's what you were really looking at, you pig-face:



Then you run out back for 10 seconds and magically the 60 dollar gig-bag appears. It's like it was right back there all the time and you totally missed it! WONDERS NEVER CEASE! I guess the gig-bag fairy made an impromptu landing. I was really impressed in particular when that unicorn flew out of your ass, as well. Amazing trick!

And for the future, I will not be shopping at your establishment ever again, which is sad. You ruined it for everyone. It's like you let out a big fart and now the room has cleared. Nice job.

For anyone who is interested, I now by all of my gear and accessories on www.musiciansfriend.com. They are courteous and helpful and don't resort to used-car-salesmen tactics to make an extra 10 bucks in commission.

If you do, however, decide to still shop at Daddy's, ask for Glen. He is good.

Oh, and while i'm on this rant. it's amazing to me that some Americans still think Iraq is responsible for 911. And now you're just thinking we are way to deep into this war to justify, but at first you were like "yea, bomb those motherfuckers". Please stop eating in public restaurants. And while you're at it, now might be a good time to take a permanent vow of silence. At the very least, please become a recluse, so I don't have to listen to the sound of your brain cells pleading for mercy. Thanks a bunch!