Dancing To Music You Can't Hear

Don't worry, I'm a professional.

Mon, 08 Nov 2004 06:28:47 GMT

So, today, a very important event unfolded. I'm no longer an amateur writer. I'm a professional. And by professional, I of course, don't mean that I'm a fantastic writer, but that I get paid to write. For some reason, those craz-os at Performing Songwriter decided to mail me a check for fifteen dollars for the 400 +/- words that they put into one of their magazines. I'm going to see if that issue is out now, and if it is, I'll post awesome little scans of all of it.

So now I have fifteen dollars... hooray. I think I'll save it for a rainy day.
~Decibel

P.S. The roommate still sucks.

Introducing for the first time ever.

Mon, 01 Nov 2004 16:48:26 GMT

I bought records. Hooray-a for me.

Felix da Housecat - Rocket Ride
DJ Micro - Penetrate
DJ Tiesto - Love Comes Again (!!! = creamage of pants)
Paul Van Dyk (feat. Second Sun) - Crush

and a 10" from Nickelodeon that has the Invader Zim theme song and the Planet Battle theme on it... yeah, it's incredibly high quality. >>;

I'm out and tired.
~Decibel

I just don't get it.

Fri, 29 Oct 2004 16:06:11 GMT

Every day, for the past 2 weeks, I've woken up and felt like a fried shit stain.

It's making me want to bash my head in with a spiky metal pan, but I don't think many pans have spikes on them... and if there are any that do, I'd like to watch the chef who uses those pans, because I have a sneaking suspicion that he's some sort of Mongol-torture chef. He'll be lightly simmering something on the stove, and then he'll yank the pot with the spikes up and jam it into someone's kneecaps. I think videotapes of this show should be shown on the Food Network. It woudl be great.

~Decibel

Hungry and sweaty.

Wed, 27 Oct 2004 15:05:27 GMT

My room just won't get comfortable. The windows are always getting closed, the room is still reeking, and my roommate won't leave the fans on. He doesn't get it. No open windows + No fans + His smelly ass = a stuffy, hot room that smells like stale, burnt coffee and BO.

I want to kill myself. I'm so tired and there's nothing I can do about it.

Ugh. The last week has been less than productive.
~Decibel

I don't care what you say or think...

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 07:07:00 GMT

...you will never be THIS fucked up...
~Decibel

The extra 'R' is for...

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 06:21:22 GMT

Okay, the acronym is PLUR. That's it. There is no extra letter. Quit trying to add your own special little fucking spin to it. That is sacred ground, and you are definately not someone worthy enough to go about changing it because you think it needs to be.

Oh, wait... No, I was wrong. There is a little change that could be made...

PLURYNSTFUBIBYSWMB.

Peace, Love, Unity, Respect and You Need to Shut The Fuck Up Before I Bash Your Skull in With a Menstral Badger. ~kthxla.

In other news, I'm not really that angry... not all the time at least.

And my last story post didn't get very many comments. That's it.
<33
~Decibel

SWG.

Fri, 22 Oct 2004 19:04:27 GMT

I want to start playing Star Wars Galaxies again... because I think it's better than Everquest.

I mean, if it only took me like, 4 months to nearly get my Jedi slot, then I could theoretically get it in an even shorter amount of time this round, because I already know what I'm doing, right?

Le sigh... I miss it.
~Decibel

The Goldberg Variation

Fri, 22 Oct 2004 08:36:39 GMT

Here's a story I wrote a few weeks ago for my short story class... It involves raves, ravers, and drugs. Please don't comment on how the drug content makes you uncomfortable. I've had enough of that already.

Also, here's what I've been told at least ten times already, plus a few extra facts:
-->The rave world is rather well known to me and not to x reader. I tend to write the details of the rave world a bit vaguely, because it's all known to me. So if you're confused, ask, and I'll explain.
-->Don't comment about how the drugs make you uncomfortable, or you don't like that detail. I've already heard that at least twenty times. This might be a bit overboard for the people actually reading this, but don't start a drug argument in my journal. As a matter of fact, just only comment on the story. Any other posts will be deleted.
-->There is a bit of a lack of a huge central conflict. I was hoping the concentration of many mini conflicts between the main character and his goal would count as a big conflict, but apparently not.
-->I am a bit minimalistic when it comes to my dialogue. I don't do the "he said, she said" after every line. It's a bit confusing, but just think about it, and read the names I do include in the dialogue, and I'm pretty sure you smart readers can figure it out.
-->Don't say anything about how I started off with a really strong conflict between Julius and Dr. Jordan, or that I sort of dropped a few very cool details. I know. When I revise and extend the story, the story will be better.
-->It's roughly ten pages long.
-->I don't use standard indention rules. I like my system more than the standard, and I think it looks prettier. It stretches out my text a bit, but that's a casualty I'm willing to accept.
-->This has been primarily posted for My Mackenzie, because I told her I would. :)

That's it. Enjoy.

*****

The Goldberg Variation

Julius was fidgeting in his seat. The clock just wouldn't tick any faster. Glancing back at the professor anxiously, he stared ahead at the projected notes on the wall, pretending to take notes while he passed time. He didn't want to look like he was clock-watching, but he couldn't listen to Dr. Jordan ceaselessly amble on about Bach's Mass in B Minor.

The kick drum started playing in his head. That steady, pulsing beat stuck in his brain and pounded its tempo home before dropping in more. Hi-hats, bass lines, sound effects, and vocals made their way into the mix. He rubbed his temples lightly. This couldn't be happening now. Hard-hitting melodic trance filled all of the available space between his ears. With a tight grip on his pen, he scrawled the musical ideas into his notebook. He lost the focus on the notes, the teacher, and even the clock.

"Mister Goldberg."

Everything else was inconsequential. Julius scribbled vague concepts of key and not relationship and chord progression while the beat went marching on. For a split second he mused about how "magic was happening." Once he got home, he might have some time to kill to set up his equipment and mix a few minutes of-

"Mister Goldberg!"

The music stopped. Julius stopped writing.

"Mister Goldburg, that's the fifth time this week you've given me a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look, and you've only come to class twice."

"Doctor Jordan, could you call me 'Julius,' please?"

"Mister Goldburg, I've already given you this lecture four times. Pay more attention in my class or your grade will begin reflecting your poor attitude."

"Look, I'm sorry that I drift off in class, but it isn't like I only do it in here."

"Well, it comforts me to know that you're negligent and irresponsible in all of your courses."

"I'm not 'negligent and irresponsible.' I maintain above-average grades.-"

"Your substandard attitude and unwillingness to participate in class makes you negligent and irresponsible."

"And your substandard attitude and unwillingness to not be a dick makes you a bad teacher."

"I'm swiftly growing beyond patience with you, Mister Goldburg. I'm not going to waste any more class time on this conversation. You should-"

Julius hit the mute button on his ears, while he continued staring ahead through the rest of his lecture. He was beyond name-calling and fuming in the back of his head. Julius merely counted down seconds. He was back to square one… for the third time. Whenever a party weekend was at his doorstep, life became a series of obstacles instead of a series of events.

The party was in seven hours. Class was over in seven minutes. A checklist ran through his head that he had memorized like the backs of his hands: shower, dress, call his friends, get money from the ATM, and so on. He was in the middle of picking out what he was going to wear when class ended; he almost missed everyone leave.

* * *
"Dude, AWOL, I can't find my silver shorts. Are they at your place?"

"No. Did you ever get them out of your bag from the last party?"

"Oh shit, no. That means they're still dirty."

"Oh, come on, Jello! Have you forgotten every other party we've been to? Even if they were clean, you wouldn't notice after an hour."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just a little scatter-brained from class."

"No fear, man. You won't be worrying about that tonight. We're partying with-"

"Hey! Come on, you know the rules. I don't know what they are until I take them."

"Geez, whatever, crazy man. You really are crazy sometimes, you know?"

"So I've been told."

"Anyway, I'm going to finish up my shit over here. Call me when you want to pack your car up, then we'll head over to pick up Bunny and Alex."

"Wait, what? I thought Xander was driving."

"No, man. His mom blew out the transmission on her way to work. The bitch doesn't know how to drive a stick."

"Damn it! I-"

"I thought Xander told you!"

"Apparently-" "Well, fuck. I'm sorry, hun." "-not. It's okay. I just need like, ten minutes to empty shit out of my car."

"Okay, that's fine. I'll call the others and let them know."

"Kay. Thanks. Love you."

"Love you too, babe."

Forgoing efforts to continue dressing, he bolted to his car outside his apartment. No one else was around. Working quickly, he went to the backseat and grabbed a few plastic bags, making sure to snag the receipts as well. In the trunk, he picked up two small boxes and tucked them under his arm. After an awkward ordeal closing the trunk, he shuffled into the building and made his way up to his room.

The first stop for the packages was his bed. Kneeling down, he removed a portion of a fake baseboard for the box-spring under his mattress, and pulled out a thin, wide lock-box. Inserting the key, he popped open the box. Swift, accurate motions pulled the wires from the plastic bags and placed them in compartments, followed by pulling the two items from their boxes-a small drum machine and a miniature MIDI keyboard-and stowing them in spare sections in the bottom of the box.

That's when the car door slammed. Julius spazzed and quickly shut and locked the box. As he shoved it back under his bed, he remembered the boxes and plastic bags. The plastic bags fit nicely, but the boxes weren't exactly cooperative. After a bit of angry cursing and some violent pushing, the boxes both popped in. He replaced the baseboard and walked to his closet.

Right as his roommate walked in.

"Hey, Julius. I'm bringing some friends over tonight. Hope you didn't need the place."

Trying to sound nonchalant, Julius replied, "Huh? Oh, that's cool, man. I'm out tonight anyway."

"Oh, well good. I'll see you later then. Oh, and if my door is closed when you get back, don't open it… and don't knock."

"That's fine."

The roommate was bringing company over. That meant that by the next day, half of the food would be gone, at least one piece of furniture would be stolen, and two or three different neighbors would have threatened to call the police, and then one of them would.

While Julius pondered snagging his oranges off the counter, he simultaneously thanked the inventor of the lock.

Looking at the clock, he proceeded frantically packing his overnight bag, deodorizing his close, showering, dressing, and gathering his personal effects into a satchel.

Julius dragged his possessions out into the living room and pulled his bedroom door shut. Fingering a key he locked the lock. Then, fingering a second key, he locked the next two.

* * *
Julius pulled into AWOL's driveway, and the gas light on his car blinked to life.

He honked for AWOL to hurry up, and impatiently waited for her to throw her stuff in the trunk, but when she hopped into the car, and he saw her smile, Julius immediately stopped thinking about class, and his roommate's wild parties, and his empty gas tank, and remembered for a brief moment that it was a party weekend. Nay, it was better. It was a rave weekend. But his gas light dinged again.

"We need to get gas, too." He counted in his head how much money was in his wallet.

"We'll scrape a pool together after we get Xander, Alex, and Bunny."

"Are you kidding? Xander is on the other side of town-"

"They're all at Bunny's place. I wanted to give you some grace time to lock up for Joe's party."

"Wait, how'd you know he was having a party? He just told me as I walked out the door."

"All of the cokehead sluts at the café were talking about it."

"Fantastic. All of my possessions will be in police custody when we get back."

AWOL gave him a comforting look, reached over and lifted his chin with a finger and murmured, "Chin up, young person. You got extra copies of the paperwork in your room, and we filled them out after the last incident."

Julius smiled again, "Thanks."

"No problem. Now hurry up! Just because you dance slow doesn't mean you can drive slow, too!"

He gave her the finger and zoomed out of the parking lot with a grin. At Bunny's place, there was a bit of lag because Alex and Xander had just split a bowl, and they weren't operating at optimum efficiency. But, when all three finally were in the backseat, they had the gas money ready to give him.

The first gas station they passed was closed. The second contained a slew of cop cars, and Alex and Xander wanted nothing to do with that. The third station was ten cents more expensive, and Julius' first pump choice was out of order. The second one wasn't, and he almost managed to get a full tank from the gas money, but he still had enough for the drive.

* * *
"Dammit, Bunny, you said you knew where it was."

"I'm sorry. I thought it was in the same place as Maximum Velocity."

"This is where Maximum Velocity was, and the party is definitely not here.

Xander stepped into the conversation, "Hey… um, Jello. Let us make no mistake: this is no party. This is a rave."

That got everyone grinning big. They were calm and collected again. More importantly, Julius was calm again, "Okay, we can do this. What street is it on?"

Bunny thought for a moment, "It's uh… Oakland Avenue."

Alex chimed in excitedly, "Oh, dude, that's awesome. Oakland Avenue is where I work."

"Which job?" Xander asked.

"The fish-packing place. By the piers."

"Oh shit! This is a real warehouse!"'

Julius remained on task, "Alex, how do we get there?"

"Turn left up here…"

* * *
They barely heard the music when they parked two blocks away, but they could still feel the faint bass vibrations in the concrete.

Sitting in the car, AWOL shuffled in her pocket for the bag while everyone got water bottles out.

Julius closed his eyes and opened his mouth. It was his special moment, finding out what their rolls were. It was a luxury that his friends gladly afforded him as often as possible. AWOL slipped a pill into his mouth, and Julius immediately noted the lack of bitter and salty tastes and the hard, plastic shell.

When his eyes snapped open, AWOL was grinning and holding out a small plastic bag with white capsules in it. Ecstasy was easy: just add water and swallow.

The two mouthed, "What. The. Fuck." slowly to each other through beaming smiles.

He spoke through his smiles, "Well, I didn't know Molly was partying with us tonight."

AWOL smiled and rubbed Julius' knee, "If you didn't follow your silly rules, Jello…"

He happily murmured, "Shut the fuck up."

Alex muttered, "Can anyone say, 'What the fuck did I do last night'?"

Bunny replied, "More like, 'What the fuck didn't I do…'."

And so the five musketeers laughed and dropped.

A cop stopped to glare at them as the group wandered around the block and made their way around a corner. They crossed a street to where they could see a bouncer sitting outside.

They paid cover and organized a meeting point. Julius pointed out a spot against the wall. The music was clearly audible now. The five grinned and breathed a large sigh of relief. Julius sighed two.

They turned the corner of a makeshift divider to the main dance floor, and Jello grinned.

~Decibel

Use the quotation marks, bitch!

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 16:05:13 GMT

This is Joey "sleeping through his alarm."

I have a ten dollar check on my desk, but I can't cash it because my family is retarded and doesn't know how to send me money. I really could use the money. I need stuff.

When I move out, I want to do it when Nick isn't in the room. I just want him to come in to the room and suddenly, all my shit is just gone. I think it'll be real funny. I'm going to have to give the address update to a whole lot of people. Maybe... Okay, so maybe not, now that I'm thinking about it. I have my parents, Performing Songwriter, Rain, and maybe a few other. Meh. If anyone really wants to send me something, they can send it to UE and UE will forward it to me.

That's about it.

~Decibel

When in Rome...

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 08:33:20 GMT

Holy fuck. It's 3:30 am, and I'm starving to the tits. D: What in the hell is this shit!?

Today I ate seafood hardcore style. Shrimp and snow crab legs. And now I'm poor. I'm also not going to eat animal for a good long while. It just isn't pleasant anymore. The texture of shrimp was particularly disturbing.

I'm definately moving to Moore. I'll be situated before Friday.

House is wonderful.

And I'm done. >.<
~Decibel

A few notes:

Mon, 18 Oct 2004 15:54:33 GMT

-->I really love the atmosphere of the dorm rooms when it's nearly eleven in the afternoon, and the room is dark and gloomy from the weather, and I would really enjoy to put on a low, warm light to make navigating the room easier. But instead, all I can do is flip on the overhead flourescent alien mind-control light, and that completely shatters the good feelings I get.

-->An internship in Manhattan. What what?

-->I really, really, really need to do laundry.

-->Rain, I have your t-shirt. I just need time to sit down and rip all of my CDs, because it's going to take a while. Ripping CDs takes a long time. D:

-->I can't live with my roommate anymore. I just can't. I can't live anywhere near him. That's why I'm looking for a new room to stow my shit.

-->Gotta write two papers. All the books are on my floor.

-->Our next major rave goal is to go see Paul Oakenfold. My next minor goal is to find a link to Perfecto Records' website that actually works.
~Decibel

Oh, Dad...

Mon, 18 Oct 2004 08:08:12 GMT

A funny thing happened today.

I told my mom about getting my ear pierced, yeah? I sent her pictures of it. She told me she was happy that it, "wasn't big and scary" and that it "actually looks nice." Thanks, Mom. x)

Anywho, here's one of the pictures:

Now, I called home today, and asked my Dad about the piercing. Here's our conversation:

Me: So, Dad. Did you see my piercing?
Dad: Yeah. It looks good.
Me: Hah. I'm glad you like it.
Dad: I just happy you pierced your left ear.

Yeah. Yeah, Dad. Now I know that my IQ comes from Mom.

Eventually I'm going to have to have "the talk" with them. Now it's inevitable.
~Decibel

And on to the revised rant.

Sat, 16 Oct 2004 06:54:23 GMT

To Whom This Concerns:

I get the point: you support the fight against breast cancer. Enough with the pink ribbons.

I understand that millions of women every year have to fight breast cancer, and it's a tragic thing. But you know what? You kids aren't on the boat alone. If I recall correctly don't we have ribbons for lung, colon, or brain cancer? Get the fuck over yourselves and take a place in line.

So it's a special woman thing when one of the fairer sex overcomes such a foe, but you don't have balls. We haven't told you yet, but every time a man overcomes testicular cancer, we throw him a big fucking party with lots of strippers, alcohol, and drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.

Going along the sexist portion of this discussion, I'd like to point out two things. First, there is no ribbon for testicular cancer. There's one for prostate, but that's not the only place where only men can get cancer. Here's number two: there is a ribbon for ovarian cancer, but how many teal pins do you see around? The ribbons have become so overpopulated and trendy that womankind is beginning to discriminate against itself.

Before you fuss, though, I am not trivializing breast cancer; I'm leveling the playing field for a game best played on a flat surface. You slap a pink ribbon on every sweater, every building, and every overpriced, gas-guzzling SUV. You make it difficult for me to say that I'm not writing this because you people are pissing me off, but I do say it. And I'm certainly not doing this because I hold breast cancer in any particularly lower regard. Here's a tip: If you were really, really worried about breast cancer, you would sell that mountain on wheels for something a bit more economical, and donate the money to the nearest breast cancer foundation. Fuck, you could even sell your ribbon, stickers, and magnets and donate that money to the nearest breast cancer foundation.

For the love of fuck, realize that this isn't an objection to you and yours. I'm sick of all the ribbons, even the rainbow one. We all have problems, but if we boost some of those problems above the rest, we'll eclipse other problems that need attention as well.

In closing, if you're going to put something on your car, go buy a sticker from Hot Topic.

Love,
~Decibel

Relevations in the car...

Sat, 16 Oct 2004 04:13:28 GMT

So, when I'm riding around in the car, zoning out and chilling to some techno, I always will do mini-dances in my seat; and I see a projected image in my mind of how I see myself based on how I feel and the emotions I'm feeling. Now, when I realize that I'm doing this, I analyze what I really look like. The point of all this, I don't like my face, because my face doesn't look like anything I want to be: a famous musician or writer, a prominent figurehead in the music or writing community, etc. I just don't "have the face" for it.

I really don't like my face.

Here's what I realized in the car about my face: I have real features. In daily media, the faces of most of the people are ambiguous specifically so that anyone could be one of those people. Unless you're a celebrity, the faces on TV are cookie-cutter faces. Our culture has worked stereotyping directly into facial structures.

But I don't have one of those faces. Which, to me, means that I'm meant to be above the "normal" facial structure, and thus above ambiguity. I guess I wax optimistic from time to time.

That's about it. I have a rant coming up next. :)
~Decibel

Kay, so here's how it all works out:

Fri, 15 Oct 2004 22:03:37 GMT

My room smells like BO, sausage, and stale coffee. Three of the scents I hate more than anything in the world.

My hands are fuck-hauled because of all the marimba playing I did today, but I feel good. If I had a marimba of my own, I would be able to practice at my own leisure, and would therefore probably practice considerably more... Now all I need is $15,000 for the marimba and a place big enough to store it.

Electronica is good.

And that's the answer.
~Decibel

Penny Arcade...

Fri, 15 Oct 2004 07:14:42 GMT

...it never ceases giving me the laughter. Sometimes it is tough dealing with fighting the endless hoardes of my mirth when I'm reading, but I cope.

I'm glad they know what they're doing...
~Decibel

Huevos.

Fri, 15 Oct 2004 06:08:26 GMT

My eyes are burning.

And that's about it, really. I'm getting really good story ideas, which is awesome. Just need to sit down and write for a good while. -whistles and looks around-...
~Decibel

How does it feel to have your words snatched away by a nasty word burglar?

Thu, 14 Oct 2004 04:20:21 GMT

http://photobucket.com/albums/v170/dj_decibel/

Check out the Tiesto pictures. Public view password is homoerotic.
~Decibel

Oi.

Wed, 13 Oct 2004 06:06:10 GMT

My computer is back on. I'm tired and I'm going to bed.

<3 for those of you who already have it.
~Decibel

-does a dance-

Fri, 08 Oct 2004 15:52:32 GMT

I tried to dance, but it hurt to much... D:

This is Joey skipping everything today because he woke up with the inability to breathe. After he regained that ability, he lost his ability to move without everything hurting. So now, he's going to take a personal day.

I just need to send all of my professors emails... >.<

This is going to be a long day.
~Decibel

So yeah...

Fri, 08 Oct 2004 05:28:44 GMT

Now, whenever I want, I can just will electronica to play in my head... I just start making it up in my head as I go along. I was worried about not writing it down, but I have so many ideas in my head, it's like this big, endless vat of music I'm ladeling out.

Anywho.
~Decibel

No subject...

Thu, 07 Oct 2004 07:24:47 GMT

Remember that bulleted list? Well, I'm back with revisions:

==> ~~Getting my first piercing this weekend. You'll all see it when you get back.~~
==> ~~Possibly getting my first tattoo. >>;~~
==> Apparently, my eBay account has been suspended, and I've been banned from eBay for violating the personal information policy. What the fuck, Doug.
==> A friend of mine has a serious, major problem, ~~I've discovered.~~ and I can't do anything about it.
==> We~~'re going to tell off my mother about how I need to go to Florida for thanksgiving instead of to Chicago.~~ still haven't talked ot my mother about going to Florida yet.
==> People on Bluelight ~~suck~~ are assholes.~~, because any time I try to add to a post, I get yelled at, picked on, etc. etc.~~ I am no longer going to post in forums where my posts might be incorrect and could potentially lead someone to accepting my highly-flawed and ignorant train of thought as fact.
==> I miss Rain. A lot. School + sick people is keeping me away from the computer, and I don't get to speak with him as often as I'd like.
==> I'm only staying at Evansville this year to get to Europe this summer.
==> I'm not going anywhere for Fall Break. And no, I don't want to hang out with you. And no, I don't want you coming over to my room asking me if I want to go anywhere. I want to sit in my room and do work, and if I get hungry, I'll go out and get food by myeslf.
==> I feel like crying. I still don't want or need sympathy.
==> I'm scared.

And there you have it... What am I to do...
~Decibel

Good god, I'm ready to blow the place up.

Wed, 06 Oct 2004 19:27:54 GMT

I. Want. A. Job. That's all I'm asking. The dude said he'd be there until 2:30, and I showed up at 2:05... Where was he? Obviously not in the room. Wtf, doug.

So I'm going to e-mail him and reorganize a time, because I need spending money. And a job to occupy my time.
~Decibel

As is evident, I haven't posted in a while.

Wed, 06 Oct 2004 06:07:36 GMT

And to sum up, here's what has been going on in list-bullet format:

==> Getting my first piercing this weekend. You'll all see it when you get back.
==> Possibly getting my first tattoo. >>;
==> Apparently, my eBay account has been suspended, and I've been banned from eBay for violating the personal information policy. What the fuck, Doug.
==> A friend of mine has a problem, I've discovered.
==> We're going to tell off my mother about how I need to go to Florida for thanksgiving instead of to Chicago.
==> People on Bluelight suck ass, because any time I try to add to a post, I get yelled at, picked on, etc. etc.
==> I miss Rain. A lot. School + sick people is keeping me away from the computer, and I don't get to speak with him as often as I'd like.
==> I'm only staying at Evansville this year to get to Europe this summer.

That's about it. That's my life. Right now, I'm feeling kinda rotted and apathetic. I really am hoping a) Rachel get's better soon, and b) I don't get sick. I'm also anxious for fall break.

~Decibel

Screen names and puppy dog tails.

Thu, 30 Sep 2004 07:55:01 GMT

I'm making new screennames, and I have about 3... and I can't decide which one I love the most.

In other news, I'm hungry.

I need a solo room, and I need about $700 to spend on software and equipment so I can start making music again... :/
~Decibel