Michael Jackson was probably THE most famous person in the world.  With 13 Grammies, the same number of #1 hits, and approximately 750 million albums sold, the man was nothing short of a musical genius and the biggest rockstar on the planet.  And, when he died, the magnitude of the news and the resulting assault by people just trying to confirm whether this unimaginable moment was true was enough to shut down major internet websites around the world.

You would be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t know who Michael Jackson was.  So, why is it that, over the past several days, the lame American media feels it necessary to provide ridiculous elevator pitch recaps of Jackson’s life, as if the vast majority of people DON’T know who he is.  To hear a newscaster say something like, “Jackson was a member of the Jackson 5 who later went on to pursue a solo career,” makes this media person seem like a complete moron and completely demeans what Michael Jackson accomplished in his life.  The guy did not go on to pursue A solo career; he went on to pursue THE most successful solo career of any musician EVER, and everybody with a TV or radio knows this already.

More importantly, it seems the media cannot get through one newscast about the death of Michael Jackson without bringing up the controversial events of his most recent life.  Might we take note that Michael Jackson, as strange as he might be to people who will never understand the problems that the most famous person on the planet might have, has never been found guilty of any of the charges brought against him?

Simply put, I find myself outraged that our media finds it necessary to clutter the news of Michael Jackson’s death with unnecessary comments aimed at creating controversy.  Michael Jackson accomplished what nobody may ever accomplish again.  He made art that impacted an entire world and several generations.  He was arguably the most talented musician of all times and last week he died at age 50.  Can we, just for a moment, put aside our petty need for drama and controversy and honor the legacy of perhaps the most successful person in the history of music?

R.I.P. Michael.  Thanks for everything.

For those of you who didn’t make it to the show, shame on you! You missed a fun night.  But the blame is on us.  We should have promoted the show more aggressively.  I mean, we only sent about 27 email notifications and constantly harassed you on Facebook.  Joey’s phone provider is regretting the day they offered him the Unlimited Text plan (This show might be the reason for the downfall of Verizon).  We promoted the show so hard that I almost unsubscribed myself from the mailing list.

“How many times these guys are going to let me know about their freakin’ CD release show, and who the fuck are they anyway?  Their music sounds nothing like 2 Cent, and the lead singer looks like a homeless guy.”

Promoting a show, or in other words promoting one’s self, sucks.  It feels very awkward to bug your friends, and your friend’s friends and their Grandma to come see you, but it works (and we love it when Grandma comes).  As such, Friday night was our best turnout so far and you guys did a good job pretending like you were having a good time. 

Another success story of the night was our merch girls.  D and Cela were kind enough to work the table.  To those of you who haven’t noticed them you should seek help, immediately.  These two hot girls sold more CHC shirts and CDs in one evening than what we’ve sold in two years.  After the show I stood next to them and for the first time in my life realized how it feels to be a hot chick.  There was not one single moment where some dude wasn’t coming over to talk to them.  Intimidated by their appearance, the dude would try to make conversation that would quickly turn into an awkward mumble.  The girls seemed well trained to deal with this. They immediately seized the opportunity to convince the dude that all he is missing in his life is a CHC shirt.  Like a snake who’s being charmed by the flute, the dude instantly reached into his pocket and shoved a bundle of cash into their hands.  He couldn’t care less about the shirt. All he wished was to extend this beautiful moment just a tiny bit more. Alas, he was pushed by the next dude in line and the same routine repeated itself over and over again. Next time we should have the girls on the stage, maybe for once someone will actually pay attention to the band.

My main concern before this show was how the hell we were going to fit all of us on the stage.  Last time we played at the Mint we were 10 people and barely managed.  This time we had Jaxx, an additional backup singer, and Racquel who is entering her 6th month of pregnancy, so we can consider that an additional 2/3 of a person on stage as well.  Luckily we all get along very well, so we squeezed in and it all worked out. 
We also decided to have the sound level on the stage lower than the usual.  I figured I’d use my lighter drumsticks and keep it nice and easy.  2 minutes into the first song I broke my sticks and had to switch to the heavy duty ones.  As we were playing Bulls On Parade I kept asking myself if it was even possible to hit the drums any harder.

After the show we headed back to Project Venice and cleared the extensive selection of alcohol to the last drop.  At a certain point Nick spotted our Huka and asked me if I would set it up.  I was glad to do so and felt he deserved a little prize (after all, his vibes solo was pretty damn good).  What I didn’t realize is that Nick is a Huka addict.  Three hours after I set up the Huka Nick was still standing next to it.  It was hard to see him through the thick smoke surrounding him.  Luckily I managed to convince him to start drinking White Russians and gradually he gave up the Huka habit for that. 

The rest is pretty much a blur, but overall, not a bad night.

-Yotam

It was a nice day in Venice, which was good, because the last few had been unusually overcast for late April in Southern California and I don’t pay inflated rent here to sit around in cold weather.  There was a breeze out and plenty of freaks walking the boardwalk.  I’d normally say I wasn’t one of them but I was dragging my right foot behind me slightly thanks to some gum on my shoe, which pretty much made me fit right in.  Overall, it was an average day except for the gum.  Although, I supposed you could say that stepping in gum is a pretty average thing to do.  At any rate, you shouldn’t let me wander or we’ll never get to the good stuff.

To call me a detective would be putting it nicely.  I’m sure any real detective you asked would put me more in the “peeping Tom with an eye for things that are out of place” category.  I certainly don’t have any credentials and the last thing I want is an office.  I might love it if I had one of those frosted glass, red dressed lady walks in and weeps at my feet while I smoke a cigar kind of incidences.  But, I suppose I’ll pass on that if it means paying thousands in rent for a 10×10 room somewhere in Santa Monica.  I could afford Culver City but I don’t think red dressed girls walk into the offices of Culver City detectives and get all misty eyed.

My career as a “Dick” all started when I found an ex-girlfriend of mine cheating with some lowlife waiter from a high-end restaurant in Hollywood.  Believe me, finding your girlfriend cheating is a sure fire way to turn you into a dick.  It wasn’t one of those, walk in and catch her in the act kind of things.  It was more the way I caught her that earned me a little respect.  I would get into the details and do some character building but, quite frankly, the incident is a little embarrassing.  Anyway, a buddy of mine heard about my underhanded little “gotcha”, had his own (humiliating) issues, and asked me to do some digging.  One referral led to the next and now it’s pretty safe to say I’m in some weird shit.

My most recent employer – they like it when I call them that – was a friend of a friend who was pretty sure a competing technology company stole an idea from him and wanted me to check into it.  Worst case scenario, he was sure I’d find some dirt, although I have no idea what he would do with it once I did.

I’m not real big on breaking into buildings, so part of my talent I guess you could say is getting in good with the enemy - a rather unpleasant task when said enemy is one lame Hollywood waiter (who you slowly find out is fucking your hot Asian girlfriend).  However, when said enemy is an ex-CEO of an acquired startup trying to impress potential investors for his next “big idea”, getting in good can be a little amusing, to say the least.

I first met Mark at a networking event for tech companies.  This is basically one step up from a Star Trek convention, which is about fifteen steps down from a night watching internet porn and eating Kettle Korn.  (Please don’t ask me why I group the two.  It’s not because they rhyme.)  At any one of these events, there are basically five hundred programmers who talked their bosses into letting them represent the company for a night, thirty bosses who were smart enough to say no to their programmers, and four real investors.  The first five hundred and thirty people spend all night trying to find and corner the last four, and those four spend all night trying to meet up with the one person they scheduled a meeting with whose idea isn’t a total piece of shit.  I was pretending to be one of the four guys.

Fifteen minutes of throwing around industry buzzwords and Mark was pretty sure I was his next big investor.  Truth be told, I might have been had I had a little money.  The company seemed solid and so did Mark.  But, seeing as Mark was my mark, I made sure not to like the guy too much.  Despite his charm, this was still pretty easy.

That was about two months ago.  Since then, I had “coincidentally” met Mark once in Vegas, blown all his coke up my nose and stared endlessly at the ass of the girl he was with; among other let’s get to know each other scenarios involving him, his blow, and whatever dimwitted model he was dating at the time.  This might be a good time to mention that my client throughout all of this is getting a little antsy, wondering when the flights to Vegas and the designer suit he bought me are going to pay off in the form of a manila envelope with lots of secrets in it.  It sounds cliché, but again, clients love that shit.  Oh, and I have plenty of suits but it’s easy to convince these clowns that I need one given how I usually dress.

You really need to keep me on track.

So, I am on Venice Boardwalk, dragging my foot like a jackass, half-stoned and coming down fast, when I run into Candace, one of Mark’s “Weekend Wenches”, as he likes to call them.   Like I said before, he’s not that difficult to dislike.

“Jimmy!” she says as she comes up to give me one of those nice, big, fake L.A. hugs that hot imports from Iowa, or any Midwestern state for that matter, like so much.  “What are you doing up here?”

Candace thinks I live in Manhattan Beach because that’s my cover for this particular job.  Suffice it to say, she also thinks my name is Jimmy, which is lame, but I’m kind of running out of names at this point.

“Not a whole lot,” I replied, “What are you doing out here?”  Candace lives in Hollywood – big surprise.

“Oh, my friend really wants this t-shirt she saw out here and I, like, totally can’t think of anything to get her for her birthday, so I am trying to find it.  I don’t suppose you know where to find a shop with t-shirts with slogans on them around here?” She bounced with that L.A. girl bounce that I pretend to despise but secretly love.

Okay, so if you have been to Venice Beach, you will know that every other store is a t-shirt shop full of the same t-shirts as the next one, all of them with slogans on them from the previous decade.  Most of them are funny the first time you’ve seen them, except the one with the picture of the ATM on it with a half fake dollar glued to it, so as to be sticking out of it, that says “How My Kids See Me”.  That shit was never funny.

This is my idea of character development - Candace was this dense.  You can’t make it ten yards on Venice Boardwalk without passing one of these shops.  In fact, we were standing in front of one.  But, considering that, to me, this was no coincidental meet-up either, helping her find one of these shirt-holes was my ticket in.

“Yeah, I think there is one up here,” I said, ignoring the store we were standing in front of and pointing down the Boardwalk.  “Can we get some coffee first?”

“Totally!” she said.

We wandered into a relatively quaint coffee shop on the corner of Windward and Pacific.  I like to drop little details like “Windward and Pacific” so that people who have been there think I actually know what I’m talking about.  I find that, if you mention a few real places in a story, nobody who’s been there doubts the gross exaggerations you plan to make later.  The place smelled like it had just been mopped with dirty dishwater and there was a lady standing at the counter that looked like she had used the same water to shower, probably not today.  I considered telling her this but I rather prefer my coffee without any human bi-products in it – except for maybe Candace’s.

I digress.

I ordered my usual and I assume Candace ordered what she always does.  She said it easily enough and that’s pretty impressive considering it didn’t have the words “totally”, “like” or “no way” in it.  We grabbed a table next to the going-out-of-business local publications and snacked on the oversized chocolate muffin the weed told me to buy.

“So, you came all the way out here for a t-shirt, huh?  Must be a pretty cool shirt.”

“Yeah, my friend thinks it’s hilarious.” She said.  “It’s actually not for her.  It’s for her dad.  It’s got this picture of an ATM on it, and…”

I zoned out.

To be frank, there were two reasons I was talking to this chick.  The first was because Candace was one of the few WW’s that I had seen Mark hang out with more than once and everyone knows that hot girls can get things out of people that dudes cannot.  The second, of course, is because I wanted to see her naked.  I can’t even say that they were in that order but I can tell you right now that the ATM t-shirt thing was quickly killing my second motive.

It took all of a few minutes for me to guide the conversation and find out a few things I didn’t know.  A) Mark had a second home in San Diego; B) he goes there every 3^rd Tuesday of the month; C) Candace likes puppies.  None of this information was useful.  I already knew where Mark was most of the time even though I had never followed him on Tuesdays because that’s the day that Mr Soda delivers Kettle Korn to my house.  Really, I didn’t need any of the information that Candace had now.  I needed to plant some seeds – (Dear God, how will they grow in there?)  - and hope that she came back with something useful next time.

“So, the dog’s pretty cute?” I continued.  Apparently, Mark had a puppy.

“Totally,” she said, “super cute.”

This was killing me.  “What’s his name?”

“Flux!” she said.

Suddenly, things got interesting.  “Flux?” I repeated.

“Yeah, Flux!  I told him it was silly when he named him that but now I think it’s pretty cute.”

“How long ago did he get Flux?” I asked.

“I dunno, four or five months ago.”  This is usually the part where a normal person would say, “Why?”  But, girls like Candace, they don’t ask why.  You just keep the questions coming and, for the most part, they will just keep on going.  They’re like the Energizer bunny but with great tits and too much eye makeup.  Especially after a “Totally Like No Way Latte”, or whatever the fuck that caffeinated soy milkshake was she was drinking.

I downed the rest of my “I’m One of the Last Real Men In Los Angeles” cup of black coffee and stood up.  “Let’s go find that shirt.”

Here is an excerpt.  Be sure to check out the entire review on his website!

“In spite of the lighthearted ambience of this CD, CHC don’t take a slap dash approach to their music.  The musicians know their stuff and you’ll find this funk is second to none…”

Read More: http://frogblogreviews.bullfrogmusic.com/?p=136

The next day I received a call from an unknown number.  I used to not answer such calls but lately I meet a lot of people that I need or want to talk to, so I decided I should.  “Hey Joey,” the person said, “It’s Aaron from last night.”  (I have changed the name to protect the “innocent”)

“Hey Aaron, what’s going on?”

“Not much,” Aaron replied, “It’s just that, when I meet cool people I like to reach out right away and make sure we stay in touch.  Otherwise, it’s just too easy to forget about it.”

Truth be told, this behavior was unusual for Los Angeles but I often wish I was more proactive about staying in touch with cool people I meet.  That said, I respected his boldness and continued.

“Fair enough, buddy,” I said, “What’s going on?”

“Not much.  I am actually going to this jazz event at UCLA tonight and thought, hey, you’re a musician, maybe you’d be into it.”  Other than a few hours of work to do with my buddy Patrick, I didn’t have any plans and a jazz event at UCLA sounded just my speed.

“Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” I said.  “I have a business meeting at 3:00 and it will probably last a few hours.  What time does this thing happen?”

“It starts this afternoon but it goes late,” Aaron said.  “I was thinking of inviting some girls I know and we can just kick it and get to know each other.”

Obviously, I had been curious as to whether our friend here was hitting on me.  Inviting some girls seemed to offset that concern, although, “get to know each other” was a little friendly.  But, hey, what’s wrong with friendly?

I told Aaron that it all sounded like fun, that girls sounded like a good idea and that I would call him after my business meeting.  We both agreed and were about to get off the phone when Aaron stopped me.

“Oh, and Joey,” he said.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“Keep your word, Bro.”

HOLY, WHAT THE FUCK?

Is that some serious stalker shit or what?!

I spent the entire rest of the day trying to figure out whether I should “keep my word” or run for the hills.  The messed up part is, I had totally planned on keeping my word until the guy told me to do just that!  I mean, I have close friends who I have spent years with who wouldn’t have the nerve to tell me to keep my word.  Who says that?!

I will make the rest of this brief.  I decided that I would keep my word but that I would take my own car, so at about 7:00 I texted Aaron and told him I might have to take off later, so I’d meet him there in my own car.

The guy never texted back, called, or anything.  I have never heard from him again.  After all of that, I keep my frickin’ word and the guy vanishes without a trace.  Do you believe that shit!

-Joey Flores
The Capitalist Hippie Complex
www.CapitalistHippie.com
www.Myspace.com/thechc

www.CapitalistHippie.net

And that is why California Rocks.

-Joey Flores
The Capitalist Hippie Complex
www.CapitalistHippie.com
www.Myspace.com/thechc

As for this post, since I usually have something political to say, I will say this.  Although it seemed that the people of Kaiser Permanente had good intentions in caring for my Grandpa this last week, I can’t help but be skeptical about whether he received the best care now and over the past few years.  It seems that too many of our healthcare decision are based on money and financial influence, rather than what is the best treatment and how people can achieve optimal wellness.

First off, you can never trust that you are being given all of the tests that you should be.  If a test is expensive and they “think” they know your situation within 75% accuracy, they won’t approve expensive tests.  My father was bed-ridden for weeks earlier this year with excrutiating back pain and they would simply not approve the tests that could help narrow down his problem.  He probably spent considerably more time in pain, missing work, while doctors guessed at what was wrong.

Second, nearly every day that my Grandfather was in the hospital over the past few years, mostly with heart related conditions, he was served meals with red meat and other salty or cholesterol heavy foods.  This infuriates me to no end.  In fact, my cousin works at a hospital here in Sacramento and says that their “nutritionist” weighs about 400 pounds.  What in God’s name are these people thinking?  When are people and, even more importantly Doctors, going to recognize the impact that diet has on wellness?  Why do doctors wait until people already have terrible heart and other conditions before recommending lower sodium diets?  Plain and simple, most disease is caused by what we put in our bodies.  If people ate more vegetables and less processed food, we would have a healthier life and planet - period.  Why is it that doctors are constantly recommending medicines and not better diet?

Third, this last week, my Grandfather’s liver failed.  Once it did, Kaiser changed his status to “Comfort Care”.  Basically, this means they will no longer treat him or try to help him at all, other than to administer pain relievers and try to make sure he passes away comfortably.  Whether this was the best option or not we will never know.  The reality is, because of the track record of Kaiser and most HMO plans, and other American healthcare policies, you can’t help but question whether this is the best option or they simply do not want to absorb the cost of the expensive treatments my Grandfather needed.  If he needed expensive medicines, an extended stay or a transplant, would they do this for a 65 year old man with ongoing problems?  Anyone who has experienced American healthcare is probably capable of questioning their motives.

At any rate, my Grandfather suffered a lot over the past few years and, although I am super sorry to see him go, I am hopeful that he is experiencing a more comfortable existence now.  I am appreciative of the way that Kaiser tried to be mindful of my family’s comfort and needs this week, despite my concerns.  I am proud of my family for their strength and I am glad that we all came together to help each other through this.  I only hope that one day, the care of our sick and our elderly will be top priority, over money and all else.  If you are reading this, please put healthcare reform at or near the top of your list of important social and political issues.  Our friends and families deserve the best possible treatment for all they might encounter.

Much love to everyone.

-Joey Flores
The Capitalist Hippie Complex
www.CapitalistHippie.com
www.Myspace.com/thechc

This makes me think of a conversation I was having yesterday with some friends.  Do you really think that over 50% of Americans prefer to speed up development of construction rather than to protect animals that are about to be removed from the face of the planet forever?  More importanly, even if our current government is only representing Republicans, are you telling me that more than 50% of them care less about animals going extinct than the speed at which more concrete is poured over what little nature we have left?

Acually, if you’re a Republican, can you do me the favor of letting me know your thoughts on this by commenting?  I would love to know whether the government is even representing anybody on this one.  Thanks!

Joey Flores
The Capitalist Hippie Complex
www.CapitalistHippie.com
www.Myspace.com/thechc

Listen, I am all for gaining massive exposure for our upcoming album, but that is one audience we don’t need.  More importantly, nobody does.  Please join the protest by signing the petition at zero dB.

Once again, disgusted by US policy.

Joey Flores
The Capitalist Hippie Complex
www.CapitalistHippie.com
www.Myspace.com/thechc

Good job Governor!  That is an awesome approach to finding the right person for the job!

That said, we are going to be done mixing soon and we are still considering where to do the Mastering of our upcoming album.  Rather than take any of the highly qualified recommendations we have received, I have decided to auction off this job to the highest bidder.  We are starting at $50,000 for this job, which pays about $1k-2k.  But, you will receive prime real estate in our liner notes and could potentially win a Grammy, if or when they add such a category.  Additionally, we will be looking for you to kick us back 50% of the $1k-2k.

Please contact me directly at douchebagpoliticsandmusicmaking@yahoo.com.

-Joey Flores
The Capitalist Hippie Complex
www.CapitalistHippie.com
www.Myspace.com/thechc