As I squeezed out a few cups of dark yellow urine this morning (I should drink more water), I found myself getting excited about sitting down to write. Funny feeling. To quote Merlin Mann (again, and I hope my fanboy flag isn’t always this obvious), quoting Louis CK, I thought to myself, “This is just what you do now.” Or at least it could be. It’s already starting to feel like it could pretty easily be integrated into my morning routine.

I had a dream last night that saw me playing a show at a small town high school auditorium (to a packed house, no less) with my long time band (comprised of people—mostly high school kids—I didn’t know). One of the other bands on the bill was a band from Louisville called Fork In Socket. They were the first band I shared a stage with where I thought to myself, “We should be playing more shows with these guys.” Their music has always been intricate yet loose, serious yet goofy. And what set them apart to me is that those descriptors (intricate yet loose, serious yet goofy) also applied to them as people. All four of them (Dan, Brandon, Eric, and Nick) are likely some of the nicest, most genuine people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, let alone spend a decent amount of time with. Their first album FIGURES was self-recorded on a digital multitrack studio (I’m not sure if it was a Korg, Tascam, Fostex, or something else), but it sounded like the product of a professional studio loaded with thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of gear and employed by seasoned veterans. The packaging—a squid in water screen printed in black ink on brown cardboard—still stands out in my mind as a product of seemingly much higher quality and resources than the truth tells. They weren’t my introduction to DIY, but they were the first to do it in a way that spoke to me.