CHAPTER ONE: From Va to La


The day after election day, which for those of you counting at home was November the eighth found us out of bed by five-thirty in the AM showered, pumped full of breakfast and back in bed by six. As the nation flip-flopped over who the next president was going to be we started our journey out of this rotten town, and only later did we find out into another.


Nine-forty rolls around (and right over top of us) as we leave the confines to the solid ground and take to the turbulent sky, which with any luck would lead us to Los Angeles. Of course you all know what Los Angeles means? It’s Spanish for…The…Angeles.


We land jet lagged and nearly vomiting partly from the flight and partly from the airplane food. We meet the vice president, not of the country remember that was still in limbo but of our label. Which really isn’t fair to say because I don’t have any stock in this label. He was the first person “Not to piss off,” says our appointed spokesman/leader Nick. Taking his advice we meet with the utmost kindness our new “boss” and his two henchmen. He was and still is for that matter the black suited La type (whatever that means) who would rather remain nameless, although his name is Courtland, Corey to his pals. After a quick meal consisting mostly of soggy appetizers, at the record labels expense of course we discovered our three new acquaintance had about as much a sense of humor as a jar of mayonnaise and if there was a jar of mayo present I would apologize. After all it’s not fair to the rest of them. But our spirits were far from crushed. In fact everything was still on the up and up.