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I'm everyone – hang your label on me

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No longer allowed to be Down With the Sickness

So most of you have read about the tragic shooting in Colorado this past week at a showing of The Dark Knight Rises.  Some crazy possibly fame crazed, definitely damaged individual stormed a theater full of people just there for a good night at the movies and killed 12 people and shot like what, 70 plus people, total? And some of them were children.

A lot of people have been sitting around throwing their opinion into the ring about what happened and why, but something that’s been creeping up and out into conciousness  is that there were children at a midnight showing of a P-13 movie. And since the world at large can’t make sense of what happened in the shooters mind, they’ve gone over to condemning the parents of those children either injured or killed during this rampage.

My internet rounds in the morning include our company’s paid for show prep. I was outraged and disgusted to see comments from an artist we play crucifying these parents.

You may have heard of Disturbed. You may not know who they are but I am pretty sure you’ve heard them against your will at one point.

David Draiman, the singer of this band had this to say on twitter:

All you parents out there that think it’s OK to take your infants out on the town with you, to a movie theater or otherwise, do the world a favor. Give your children up for adoption to parents who know what it is to be a responsible parent, and sacrifice on behalf of their children. Get a damn babysitter

Followed by:

Maybe we should take infants to nightclubs and restaurants in the late hours of the night as well? Honestly, f— off. This is why only certain people should be allowed the gift of a child. Too many simply aren’t ready for the responsibility

Which is all fine and good. Have an opinion. That’s cool, that’s why we have America. But my opinion is that his opinion has terrifically shitty timing. Like stratispheroically shitty timing. Like the timing is so shitty I’m making up words about it, that kind of shitty. So I took to twitter myself today to mention what I thought.

I think I was actually pretty nice

Imagine my TOTAL surprise when less than half an hour later I got not one but FOUR replies from this guy telling me why I’m wrong.

caps lock is broken, right pal?

Hmph. Okay, where do I start without sounding like a bag of dicks?

David, Let me put it down to you like this: You’re a Libertarian or something, so you believe in free speech. So do I! It’s crazy that we have that in common already! Anyway point is you are absolutely entitled to your opinion. It doesn’t need to change whatever, I just think like you believe these people should be more responsible for their children and the precious gift of children, you should be more responsible for the gift of free speech. I took a much LARGER issue with the sheer insensitivity of your comments because of the timing. The mother of that 6 year old isn’t out of the hospital herself broseph.  The gift of free speech isn’t just being able to say whatever comes into your head, its also being responsible for what you say, who it hurts, who it affects and how it makes you look. Your “truth” doesn’t have to kick someone in the teeth that already feels like like their world is ending. Much like you’re really not supposed to yell FIRE in a movie theater (really I do need to find a better cliche in this instance and I do apologize) you really not supposed to use your free speech and opinions to terrorize people in pain… at least if you’re one of the good guys.

Sometimes Thumper’s mom is right dude, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.


That being said Mr  Draiman I really liked your vocals on the Queen of the Damned soundtrack song “Forsaken.”

If we were friends (which by the sheer number of twitter messages this bro sent me, maybe we are now! Squee!) I’d just tell you there is a time and a place for judgement and a handful of days after a huge tragedy isn’t that place. Good luck man, enjoy yelling at insignificant assholes like me on twitter.

*you can follow me and my insignificant ass on twitter here *


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it’s 10pm do you care where your parents are?

So my friend Dixie just had some surgery and is dealing with some medical stuff and while trying to cheer her up via facebook I remembered our favorite movie of all time while we were hanging out.

It was Pump Up The Volume. We LOVED this movie. This should’ve been a pretty good indicator that I was doomed but really at first it was just because we thought Christian Slater was hot. (And he used to be, I’m really not sure what happened with that.) I saw this thing on cable one night after I was supposed to be in bed much like when I saw “Heathers,” and I don’t exactly remember how but Dixie and I got a copy of it. We used to watch it all the time before she went back to the other side of the country.

When she left I was destroyed. Seriously. Dixie was one of my very very best friends. She lived in my house for a month during summer school because her parents had to go somewhere. We were more like sisters than friends. We helped each other pick boys to like and the one time we liked the same boy it wasn’t even a big deal. (Plus to be honest I don’t think a boy even LOOKED at me until high school) We shared our music, my private phone that hadn’t been taken away yet, our love of listening to the radio and movies. When she left I really honestly didn’t know what to do with myself. Who the hell was I going to talk to now?

But we still talked. Long distance used to be expensive, remember? So we sent letters. And sometimes tapes of songs we liked and would talk to each other on the tapes between the songs.  We sent each other school pictures and then snapshots. I remember not being able to go to her wedding and again, so devistated. I sent her a tea set from an import shop in town because I had just read some story about how the Japanese believed if you have tea every morning with your spouse it’s good luck. Then the internet came and now I can check in Dixie every single day and look at her beautiful family and be so proud of her.

And whenever I’m down I pop in Pump Up the Volume and bask in it’s stupidity and wonderfulness and think of my friend who taught me all kinds of stuff and went from New Kids on the Block to Concrete Blonde with me and then, I smile.


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punk rock girl

So I don’t get mad very easily. It takes a lot.  I have the temper of a small baby rabbit. That being said I saw the dumbest thing on the internet this morning and almost threw my computer out the window. Here, let me share it with you so your day can be completely ruined too:

Are you kidding me?

Let me just start with: I hosted and basically created a punk radio show for what, 4 years?  So in that time alone I had really nice intellectual conversation with Henry Rollins. Did you know my good friend Jack Grisham from T.S.O.L now recognizes me on sight and thinks I know more about him than he does. (It’s actually probably true, I love that band and how unrepentant Jack is.) I used to talk to Brett from Bad Religion once a month at least when I’d call in record ads to Epitaph because sometimes he answers his own phone. CRAZY I know. Keith Morris is a total cunt but he’s fun to talk to. I’ve done it a few times and enjoyed it. Don’t even start me on James Dewees from the Get Up Kids and Reggie and the Full Effect… He’s great. But since I’m a girl, I can’t know this right? I can’t possibly care about any of these bands or their music because being a girl means I “have” to like certain things… Blink 182 for instance…

Funny thing is this. There’s nothing wrong with liking what you like. You like Blink? Great they’re cool guys and when I took my little sister to meet them they were amazing to her. You like Bad Brains? Great, they’re bad ass. Fugazi is bad ass. But you know what else? I can see the merit in Good Charlotte songs because I’m not busy growing my neck beard and hating anything that threatens me.

I like Lady Gaga. I like MDC. I like TSOL. I like Ke$ha. I like Unwritten Law. I like Rollins. I like the Dead Kennedys. I liked the Kurupted Peasent Farmers too but that doesn’t make me better than anyone. My favorite band in high school was F.Y.P (after Depeche Mode of course which makes me doubly evil) but that doesn’t mean that when I first heard Rihanna I didn’t freak out and love that too.

Dear Mr Stupid Meme Maker- liking what you like is punk. Not conforming (god I haven’t been able to use that word since high school) to some asshole’s definition of something is punk rock. If you’re judging ladies based solely on liking what they like and maybe not what YOU THINK they should like, you’re no better than the jock who’s probably beating you up at school or whatever your problem is. When you get older what “is punk rock,” changes and it mostly is staying true to you. If you can do that, you’ve won. So if you’re dating some girl 1-congratulations and 2- fucking lay off, let her like what she likes.


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Los Angeles

I want to go home.

Shocking right, that I’d want to “go home,” but everyone thinks of home for me as Bakersfield California but in reality HOME home sweet kiss the ground when you get off an airplane home for me is Los Angeles, California.

It is ABSOLUTELY the best place I’ve ever even temporarily lived. (WHAT UP NORTH HOLLYWOOD!?)

Radio is fantastic. Shopping is fantastic. The clubs are fantastic.  Food is amazing.

But there’s more than that. Los Angeles is this place this magic place where dreams come true.

I miss it so much. I started trying to explain the beauty to Ben, who’s only been to Disneyland, the fun of the driving the experience.

As long as I was in driving distance (which I was up until 2 years ago) I considered Los Angeles to be HOME. Bang, Beauty Bar, Burgandy Room, Toi Thai, Oxnard st/ave whatever. KROQ, The Record Bar. Eleclectic Cafe. LA woman. Fashion District. The Getty. So many things.


I want very much to go home.  Maybe baby, maybe someday.

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On the day I was born

At some point everyone asks for their birth story. What happened on the day I was born?

My mom was 18 years old when I was born. At 4ft 10inches tall, I was almost half of her by the time they went to the hospital. I’ve seen the pictures. I want to apologize to my mother every single time I see those pictures because how brutal that must have been to lug me around for 9 months. My mom likes to tell everyone I was an easy birth. I was born cesarean section because back in 1979 they thought people of my mom’s size would be too small to have a natural birth and also because my mom broke or cracked her tailbone when she was younger. So they took my mom to Memorial Hospital in Bakersfield and my mom told me she didn’t even really know she was in labor with me. When they decided it was time (late afternoon) they came to get her and she was watching General Hospital. The nurse wouldn’t let her finish the show and there was only like five minutes left. I hope it wasn’t when Luke and Laura got married because that would just make me rude.

Seriously what planet did this wedding take place on anyway?

In the 70’s when people had c-sections, they were pretty much down for the count and so my mom wasn’t awake when I was born. As a result she didn’t recognize me at first. Actually that was probably the anethesia talking too. Plus everyone was so sure I was going to be a boy that even my crib had a blue card on it already. And my going home outfit was for a boy as well. But I wasn’t a boy. I was a 7lb 11oz 21 inch long baby girl with a crap ton of hair. My mom tells me that the nurses fought over who got to bathe me because I was the only baby with hair that weekend. Also back then they kept you at the hospital much longer.

My dad tells me about lighting off fireworks outside of my mom’s hospital room window and having a cigar. My cousin Michelle tells me about requesting a song for me on the radio, maybe even the station my dad worked at. Michelle is only 10 years older than me but we’ve always been really close. My grandma used to tell me that she decided I was “her” grandbaby when I came home. I was the baby for a long time until Libby came along and I did spend a lot of time with my grandparents growing up so I believe it. Everyone agrees I was a really quiet kid. I think the story of the rat getting in my room is my favorite (We lived in front of a barn for a long time, rats and stuff that’s just part of the gig) I apparently sat in my crib playing with a rat for a long time. It didn’t scare me at all and maybe that’s why it didn’t bite me but that’s the kind of baby I was.

My dad used to work two jobs when I was a little baby. He worked at a dairy in the morning doing things that you do in a dairy. I have a feeling there was cow poop involved and would come home to see me before going to the radio station and he says I would always be awake and happy and doing my Rooster dance in my crib when I’d see him. My hair was ridiculous so I was a little Rooster to my dad. (Hilarious because just as I was writing this paragraph my dad commented on my facebook and called me Rooster. )

Anyway 33 years ago today on a very very very hot day in Bakersfield, California, during one of my mom’s stories (how rude!) I was born. Later that night it was decided I would be named Stephanie after Stephanie Powers on Hart to Hart.

Stephanie Powers


Here are some really old pictures of me and my family

Dad and I




I was a fat kid


My parents