A Year Without Seth

A year ago, I woke up on the floor of my friend Brian's house in Fullerton, California. The sun was already out, shining through the living room window and bouncing off of the various bottles and cans of beer around the room. The furniture was old, almost antique, and the pastel colors on the walls of the house made the morning feel extra lazy as I walked to get water from the kitchen. Our gear was still set up in the other room – we'd gone straight from playing to partying. C'est la vie. This was the first time that Love Moon had played outside of the Bay Area, the first trip that we'd taken to play music without Adam. We'd played at a bar in L.A. the night before, but this house show had definitely been more fitting for us. 

I reached for my phone under the couch that Charles was asleep on. One missed call and a text from Tyler, “Seth passed away. Call me when you're up.” Even though I'd known that this was coming it knocked me over. Seth was gone. I laid on the floor for a long time trying not to think. No one else was awake.

One year in Oakland

The past year in California has been one of dynamic change for me. It's been a year of new things like singing in a band, beaches, hikes and making friends. It's also been a year of loss for me. 

We're a real band (again)

Tomorrow morning James and I are going to be on a Radio Valencia show called Conan Neutron's Protonic Reversal from 8 to 10 a.m. (that's 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. for you Midwesterners). You can find a place to stream or listen to the recording here. We've been in Oakland for three months at this point. Things are better than ever and the band is becoming the real, functioning project that we've been building towards.

There's more than corn in California

A few things happened on our end in Oakland this past weekend: we welcomed James' cat Lola into our apartment and put two songs from our new project LOVE MOON into the cosmos via our bandcamp.com profile. It's not an enormous change from the ordinary but there's a real shift in reality when the thing that you've been working on and talking about for so long makes the jump from concept to tangible product.

An open letter to my friend Kate

Dear Kate,

Most times I don't believe the things that I tell you over the phone. Asking you to stay strong and telling you that you're doing your best isn't helpful to a person under the dark weight of the situation you've found yourself in. These are weak little statements that don't encourage a positive mentality but instead distract you from the very real problems you're facing daily. I cannot imagine the hardships you face with a mother in chemo and a grandmother passing away before your eyes. I'm going to write my thoughts down so that I can read them again before shuffling them back at you when you need someone to talk to.

Bed-ownership

I've been sleeping in my own bed. After two months of touring and living on a floor, I have my own bedroom and bed. It's a queen size bed from IKEA, the cheapest possible combination of mattress, slats and bed frame possible. In three years I haven't had a bed larger than a twin and I'm a tall, big guy who can't sleep folded up.

Hella California Hella

My friend Kate asked what my favorite thing to do in Oakland was so far the other night as I walked her home from the bar using FaceTime. I'd already told her about the grapefruit juice and tequila palomas at Cafe Van Kleef and lake full of dead bodies in the center of downtown, but I couldn't pinpoint a specific thing that I could call my favorite. I realized that there are a lot of smaller things about California making me happier for moving here everyday.