Ego Boost – poem, 2/11/12, 1:50pm

We all need to give ourselves some positive self-talk every now and then......

i am gorgeous

inside and out

i am sexy

without a doubt

i am witty

i am fun and spontaneous

i am strong

i am brave and courageous

i am intelligent, always curious

i like to fix things

i’m a gearhead

(no really i’m serious!)

i am unique

i am creative

i am quiet and understated

i am simple

i am natural

(make-up is overrated)

i’m a survivor, outliving others

RIP my fallen sisters and brothers

i’m the one who got away

but also the one who always gets caught

i cannot be stolen or bought

music is my essence

dance is my being

my third eye’s open and seeing

it's so liberating, so freeing

i’m a lover, not a fighter

a back scratcher and biter

smartass, narrator, and (of course) writer

always seeking truth, knowledge, and answers

to eradicate hate, ignorance, and cancers

some days, the world beats ya down

gotta pump up the Ego and flip-turn that frown

cuz emotions like sadness and anger

will only blind you and put you in danger

handicaps that take away from the moment

thoughts are like seeds 

you've planted and sown em

gotta tackle the negative

to chase down your dreams
its imperative
reality's exactly what it seems
which means
it is whatever you choose 
this is one of the most pertinent universal rules
so next time you feel weak like a frayed suture
remember "i am at cause over my future"

First article published in Raver's Digest, "A Walk in the Park", EDC 2001

I present my first massive, first guest list, first Raver's Digest article: Electric Daisy Carnival, June 30th, 2001 (Hansen Dam, SoCali son!).  Re-reading this for the first time in years, I sound kind of smug (and this was before I was an Angry Junglist!), and certain aspects of the author's mindset are so foreign to me now it almost seems like a different person wrote it. But I was young, and very proud of the underground...
and I guess in many ways I still am.
Here it is, in all of its unedited glory.
Enjoy.

16 years old and kandi beaded up!

Note: I was known as NadaClu, hence the nickname, and this was when we had pagers, before cell phones got big, so each Raver's Digest staff member had a designated pager code ID number, mine was 31. 


I've been going to small parties ever since I went to my first rave in '99. The biggest party I'd ever been to had around 6000 capacity. I'd tried many times to make it to a massive, but failed due to problems thrown my way by daily life (money, work, drama, etc.). So you can imagine how excited I was when Mark told me that he wanted me to go with him, Sam, and Lila to E.D.C.

How was my experience at my first massive? I would have to say that it was interesting. I was able to talk my good friends/promotions partners Aaron and James into coming with us, even though they didn't have money for tickets. They figured that if they couldn't get into the party one way or another, they could always just stand outside and pass out flyers. The six of us got to the party at around 2 p.m. After wishing James and Aaron the best of luck, Mark, Sam, Lila and I went through the usual bullshit with guest list, got our tickets, went through more bullshit with security, who stripped me of all but my clothes and my rights, and then finally got inside.



The heat was oppressive, but the venue was beautiful. Hansem Dam Park is filled with rolling hills covered with lush green grass and huge, shady trees, making it a very barefoot friendly location. The Jungle, Drum and Bass, and Ambiant areas were placed alongside eachother underneath thick groves of trees. The House and Hardcore areas were located adjacent to the other rooms so that they were facing away from eachother. The Trance room was placed all by itself since it had the largest crowd expectancy. Vendors lined one end of the park, selling everything from glow sticks and water to records and specially formulated forms of oxygen. The carnival rides lined the other end of the park. Giant water slides and slip'n'slides were placed somwhere in the middle of all this organized chaos.

After figuring out that it was way to hot to dance, Mark bought a frozen lemonade (which cost $5!) and we headed over to the Drum and Bass area to chill with all the Junglists in the shade. The next thing I knew, Aaron and James were jumping on top of me, babbling excitedly about crawling under two fences and cleverly evading security. It hadn't even taken them an hour to sneak in! They make me so proud.
 
Mark and Aaron eventually went their separate ways to go be socialites, but James and I stuck together (after all, that's what sidekicks do). We spent the rest of the afternoon traveling from shady spot to shady spot and running into people we knew. I would have died from the heat, which hit my entire being like a brick wall, had it not been for the water slides.

The party didn't start going off until around 6 p.m. when it began to reach full capacity and Bad Boy Bill mixed his House set. As the refreshing, lovely darkness of night set in and lasers and lights began to turn on, the energy of the party grew and I was able to get my much needed therapy of dancing my aggresions away. Since we both love every style of electronic music except gabbercore, James and I made an effort to check out every room. The Trance room, though overly crowded, had good music and props such as giant paper daisies crawled up the stage and speakers. The House room went OFF, of course, as did the two Drum and Bass areas where we were lucky to have two very talented MC's. I especially liked the Ambiant room, which I was in mostly for Eli Star's set.



I don't normally leave parties early, but by 11 p.m. I was sore everywhere, exhausted, and famished. James and I decided to go be the good promoters that we are and pass out flyers in front of the venue for "In the Dark" (since security wouldn't let us bring them into the event). Aaron joined us after a while, and when we ran out of flyers we got into Aaron's car, inched our way through the traffic, and drove from that little realm of magic back into reality.



All in all, I would have to say I had fun, but I didn't have the time of my life. The whole thing was too hot, too dirty (I've been to many a desert party and never gotten as dirty as I did at E.D.C.), too expensive ($2/3 for water? Fuck that). Basically...too legal. I guess I'm just a small party head and spoiled because of it. I mean, why would you wanna go to a dirty, expensive massive with anal security and pigs (oops, i mean cops) every three feet when you could go to a cheap, good old fashoned underground with drunk security and no pigs (oops, i mean cops) But, I can't bitch, because E.D.C. had an awesome vibe and an awesome lineup, and I must say I'm glad I went.

"Walk Tall" - a poem (circa 2001)

Originally written on a scrap of paper coming down off of gawd-knows-what, back when I was getting deep into the SoCal Rave Scene.
A beautiful piece of teenage rebellion against conformity. 

let me melt into the carpet

and seep into the floor

scrape me off the ceiling

and make me whole once more

untangle me from these spider webs

i so lazily spun myself

set me daintily on a cloud

so i can float through life with stealth

toy with my hair

feed bittersweet thoughts into my ear

take me far from this place

because im sick of being here

don’t let them transform me

into the fraud they think i should be

i’ll keep rebelling against the system

til i die or lose my sanity

if i can hold myself together

then i’ll stay strong

if i keep my mind open

i can never be too wrong

let me continue to be a shock

as long as i have energy

let me walk tall

while being the individual

known as me

"Reset" - Flow orig. written for Raver's Digest (January 2003)

reset flow so good you'll want to read it slowly
hand crafted for you by the one and the only
renata hernandez a.k.a. number thirty-one
(she braids werdz into poetry just for fun)

its been such a long day, am i ready for a long nite?
my mind's beginning to fray and body feels wound and tite
but i think i can rebound for the night
cuz 26c knows how to put the sound
and vibe together right
i round up the homies and we take flight
for the Orion and to my delight
there's no line at all, just the usual slight
gathering of promoters standing near the door
always handing out more and more
flyers to passerbyers by the score
we pass through security and enter: the first floor
where house pours through speakers, bass cabinets and onto the floor
leaving behind a muck that's crusty and unsure
a constant reminder of raves from before
i scrape it off my shoes as i walk upstairs
to check out the funky trance that blares
into people's faces it erases any traces of daily affairs,
which constantly ensnare me
and in the process impair me
magically, music repairs me,
mind, body and soul
once i start dancing i find i feel whole
but now it's time to go before the evil takes its toll
cuz if one more winged candy kid happens to stroll
by i fear i may pick them up and see if they can fly
they're getting on my nerves and i'm not sure why
i guess tonight my tolerance just isn't very high
so goodbye trance headz...hello drum n bass!
tonight the basement is the chosen place
for the jungle room, and what a great use of space
my eyes trace a set up that's very appealing
over my head cammo net hangs from the ceiling
the jungle is squealing from huge walls of speakers
causing mischief like midnight window peekers
the poppers and freakers get frantic like tweakers
trying to keep up with beats that bubble in thier ears like beakers
held over bunsen burners set at full blast
whether learners or those who have surpassed
vast amounts of battles, nobody stands at 1/2 mast
the jungle demands that everyone keep up with its fast
beats, or sit on the floor and get harassed
i join the cast of characters that make up this rave
in allowing the jungle to flow in and save
me from the fears that cause the tears that melt the brave
part of myself; i am jungle's slave
my body behaves all on its own
it disowns me as easily as a child who's outgrown
some beat up doll; patched up and re-sown
its like i've known how to do this dancing thing my whole life
each step i take chips away a little piece of strife
and as green lasers pierce the air around me like a knife
i smile because raving is the best life
as my body picks up timing and precision
i decide that the best decision
i ever made was enticing the collision
between myself and this scene
i don't mean to be obscene
but fuck anyone who can't handle this living dream
i hear the scream of the music inside my head
even as i crawl into my bed
and smile once again before sleep's grip spreads
i enjoy the places that my memory treads;
so many faces, so many fly threads
crazy hair like DBZ spikes and dreds
"so many different people", like 'no doubt' says
is what makes raves addictive, like LSD coated 'pez'

"fake" - poem (very old...guessing circa 1998)

faltering in her silent steps
she
cries aloud. the light
overwhelms
the senses. come darkness! save
me
from the truth. envelop me
with
your star-studded veil. don't let
her
see our technicolor dreams, for her
plastic
thoughts will pollute the universe, and she will only
smile

"An Evening with Lucy" circa Fall 2001

(originally written on the back of scheduling sheets from a Mann theater I worked at)

he calls out to the sweeping patterns painted upon the sky
confusion sends him spinning off course
the colors won't stop bleeding into each other
so how could he possibly stay within the lines?
everything's all chaos
there's too many angles where there should be curves
delusions crowd his head
all screaming at each other, insisting that they be heard
"shut up!" he shouts "i am in control!"
nothingness laughs back at him, so loud that silence builds to an unbearable level
something inside him snaps and the Transformation is complete
or is he even changing?
too many questions for too small a space
he can feel the air molecules pressing in on all sides
he tries to fight it but something tells him to let go
that arguing with gravity and other such forces of nature would only end with him getting hurt
so he relaxes and allows himself to melt into the breeze
in doing so he becomes pollens and spices from faraway lands
and a million other things too small to be detected by the naked eye
that’s when the mischievousness takes over
if he could not be seen, then how could he be stopped?
a wave of amusement sweeps through him
as he chases cardboard dragonflies and other tentative possibilities
until he is so exhausted he can no longer laugh without his sides hurting
he watches the sun sink into the earth
the cool breath of night awakens all of nature’s insomniacs
the whole universe exhales
and he feels that he is able to stand once again
he does and grows to a height of such great intensity that he hits his head on the moon
“ouch”
the pain is so sharp its almost exquisite
his fingers tingle and he brushes off his self-consciousness so he can walk easier
he can feel dew forming on his eyelashes and silver stars getting entangled in his hair
and he is content, but he feels alone
a walking shadow among brilliant beams of light
but he accepts the darkness because he purposely flips the light switch
“you can’t blame others for your own self-inflicted destruction” he reasons
“did i just think logically? i thought i had left that realm long ago”
then he crashes back down into reality, carried by the weight of rational thought
he is sad because he can no longer deceive those who see with their eyes
or chase flying paper creatures in an emerald sky
but he can still feel the rhythmic breathing of the universe
and he smiles because he knows that those on a different level from him cannot
that comprehension of a greater world is his
that if this is “self-destruction” then surely deterioration is life-giving...

“My Addiction: City of Angels Review” – Article written for Ravers Digest, originally a Myspace exlusive circa 2008

March 3^rd 2008

City of Angels: Underground style jungle party in LA!!!!! 

Jungle jungle jungle!!!!  My heart races, thoughts pound, feet skip, as we near the brick building on the corner of Broadway and 38th in downtown.  My City of Angels.....its so good to be back!  Too long have I been chasing the mainstream scene in the Inland Empire and Hollywood, too long have I neglected my underground roots for big names and bottle service.  Now here we are, back on the streets where my love, my addiction to BASS all started.  I am excited to be back here, and the feeling only grows as I near the front entrance and suddenly hear barred windows shake and rattle with a bassdrop released from within.  My belly tingles, and I can't wait to be inside.  I already know in my head what it will look like.  We will enter thru the frontdoor (hurry up get inside, no standing in the street u will burn the venue!!!), and only guys will be searched, and even then probably just for weapons.  Then we will walk down a narrow corridor dotted with the occasional straggler, and we will turn a corner and walk right into the first room.  There will be no glowsticks or wings or big platform shoes tonite, it will be dark and red and and evil. 

It will intimidate those who are not true at heart.

And once we get inside, I find the picture painted in my head is not only matched by what meets the eye, but surpassed by it.  There were poppers galore (the majority of which were female!), sick breakers, a few props, and of course beautiful, loud, obnoxious, almost chaotic,  Jungle being spewed forth from many speakers.  Ahhhhhhh.................Just stepping inside jungle's warm embrace and catching my first breath of bass releases any stress or worries I had when I entered.  I soak it up like a lizard soaks up the sun when its trying to regulate its body temperature.  Music regulates my sanity.  As I take a look around this smaller area of sound, something about the DJ's turntable setup catches my eye....no way...was that???? Oh wow, they had the tables set on top of a huge snake tank, which held two giant snakes. 

I am no expert but I think they are boas, and they are beautiful.  One of them is an albino, and they both lay complacent in their cell, observing the dance floor with a royal like calm.  What an interesting touch, I think to myself.  Nice and evil and dark.  I part the black curtains suspended in the doorway between this room and the rest of the party, and step out into the second area.  This one is much larger than the first, much louder, and contains the all important "bar", which is basically just a few tables set together, covered in a disorganized heap of plastic cups and jugs and beer bottles.  I scan the room and decide that this is a nice, airy venue, the walls of which were dotted with signs requesting people to "please not write on the walls".....

Damn junglists, you can't take us anywhere!!!!To my right, a giant disoriented clock hangs against a wall, suddenly giving me an Alice in Wonderland feeling.

 

 Hey did I just fall down the rabbit hole?  Anyone know where that bastard went?  I chase my mischief around a corner and find myself on the dance floor of the main room.  Its pleasantly crowded and there is a female emcee from the UK gracing us with her lovely presence.  And like I anticipated, the floor is relatively devoid of anything that glows or blinks or glitters.  Cammo netting and red lights are suspended from the ceiling, and the sweet smells of smoke drift lazily into the air. 

 All the usual suspects from all the sick crews are here, and we greet each other as we pass by.  We are in our element, and its so good to be here all together.  I smile, and dance, and dance, and dance.  I stop only to drink some water or watch the other poppers and try to learn new moves.  The never ending Exchange of Ideas and Skills, and there are some rare moments going on on this dance floor tonight.  People are actually taking the time to teach each other new moves.  This is very rare as popping is considered a self learned art and most will tell you to go fuck yourself if one asks hey man how did you do that thing?  I do it all the time.  But tonight was the exception, and every single one of us there knew it.  We junglists are a different breed, and special things happen when you stick us all together under one roof.  Friends are made, numbers exchanged, props are given out like candy on Halloween.  Its great and awesome and perfect and beyond all descriptive words and I want it to last forever but of course it doesn't and the time to leave comes all too quickly.  When the party ends we go back to being the redheaded step children of the rave scene, back to the genre that always gets booked inside the smallest room of any venue, back to everyday life.  But when we pass each other on the street or on the dance floor at the next sugar coated, glow stick wielding event, we nod and smile and know that we are different. 

And we wouldn't have it any other way.

Each One Teach One!  

Peace Love and BASS!!!!!

"i cannot for the life of me..." A Gearhead Poem (Circa March 2009)

...fucking sleep

the gears in my head just won't stop turning
yearning
for apexes and curves
racing the birds
towards the heavens
embracing the mountains
words
cannot describe the longing i feel
in my soul
i feel whole
when rubber and steel
are at my command
embrace the wheel in my hands
twisting and turning
nature's demands
and lady luck
are my only concerns
discerning my beloved
free from thinking
all instinct
like breathing or blinking
chase the sun till its sinking
then into the night
you try to follow
all you see
are taillights
and im gone
smiling at your feeble attempts
repeat
your rinsed out
style is spent
long before i've even started
so go join the other ricers
and dearly departed
ill say a prayer for you
next time we meet
just as soon
as i have her back on her feet
i anticipate that day
like a kid's christmas
already have a mile long
wish list
a never ending process
this game we play
but i wouldn't have it
any other way

"Traveler's Mantra" - a poem circa 2011

very old school style prose, like my pre Hip-hop days.. enjoy!

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
-Robert Frost

i dream
in fermented grains
of wild plains
and untamed mountains
challenging freight trains
snow covered passes
spring's fragile grasses
summer's warm, flirtatious embrace
and chilled glasses
filled to the brim
may your cup over-floweth
fellow wanderer, explorer, artist, and poet
go boldly forth
into the unknown
leave behind your family, loved ones, and home
and bear witness to scenes
few others have seen
forge your own path
create your own dreams
and chase them down
despite how overwhelming adversity seems
you will experience hunger
you will know heartache and pain
you will face wildfire and tumultuous rain
you may not survive
you may never come back
but to overcome is to thrive
thru suffering and lack
we learn who we are
our weaknesses and strengths
our boundaries
our ability to push the lengths
of soul and will
despite prosperity or ill
to find happiness within
is a blessed skill
even still
without huge risk
there is no great reward
so keep movin' forward
the journey starts with but a single step
you never know what you'll discover
maybe yourself
the final frontier
so cheers, fellow traveler
to you, me, the unknown
and those whom we love, far away
back at home

Exit Stage Left: A Love Letter to Los Angeles

i finished this right before moving from Southern California to Boulder County:

today is grey quiet and sullen
a reflection of my soul
heavy and swollen
weighted with questions
topics and emotions
heavy as anchors
and deep as oceans
tumultuous storms
wash over my mind
drowning clarity
struggling to find
my way, my path
fighting for breath
among the waves’ wrath
the shore I once knew
and loved so well
is ravaged and torn
a reflection of hell
where is the heaven
i once called home
oh Los Angeles
what have we done?
where is the promise
of golden prosperity
opportunity for all
the tired and poor
we became a charity
spread ourselves too thin
now the infrastructure
is disintegrating from within
the cost of living
is inflated
the local workforce
is degraded
underpaid
overworked
tired and jaded
business is fleeing in droves
driven off by taxes
that never trickle down
just look at the roads
throughout this town
projects lay partially completed
and take decades to finish
this state is depleted
there is nothing left
but broken dreams
smog and potholes
coming apart at the seams
god its fucking awful
i don’t want to admit it
but I gotta let her go
my City of Lights
i love her so
there is nothing here left for me
except a few loved ones
and some scattered family
so I look beyond the Sierras
for a brighter future
severing this bond
like a decayed suture
perhaps one day
i will return
as I know in my heart
i will always yearn
for the mountains, beaches, cities and sleaze
of El Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles

Mardi Gras 4 - Article for Ravers Digest (circa 2007, one of the last things I wrote for the publication)

I was trying to find this on the Ravers Digest archive but it is not there and that made me sad. So I decided to post it here so I can find it when I want. An oldie but a goodie, from a time in my life that I thought of for a few years as "closed". But I learned there is no such thing as a "semi-retired raver", and I find myself still going out when I can find a worthy enough event and my body allows me to indulge in such activities.
Enjoy the article!

The night of Mardi Gras 4 was perfect. It started with getting from north of LA to San Bernardino in a record time of one hour and ten minutes, and ended with getting a green and white piece of kande that reads "I love ganja" from an adorable little girl at her first rave. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I got off work that night earlier than expected, hyper and excited for Mardi Gras 4. I had been waiting all week for this evening to come, and now it was finally here! It felt like Christmas. I quickly transformed from mild-mannered, steakhouse hostess to aggressive, black and cammo junglist. After grabbing a naked juice and a double shot of espresso, I was ready for anything! I put Portishead into the CD player, and cruised from the mountainous retreat known as the Santa Clarita Valley down the 210 towards the industrial jugular of the Inland Empire. On the way, I got a phone call from Mark, letting me know that he, his wife, and Rob, would be rolling out from San Diego to come check out the debauchery. This news amped me up that much more, the whole Ravers' Digest crew would be united together for the first time since TAO! I felt absolutely electric and my car practically danced up the freeway.

some of the RD crew at their finest

When I pulled into the parking lot of the Hudson, I was shocked to see that it was already overfilled. Cars wandered aimlessly thru the packed aisles, praying to the lot gods for a spot to materialize. I followed suit, and happened upon a spot, far in a dark corner of the property. I wasn't comfortable parking that far, alone, with my camera and valuables, but I was more concerned with getting inside the party before DJ's  Rabbit & Mad Hatter started their set at 11pm. This gave me about 10 minutes to get going. So I muttered a prayer for good vibes and karma to the air surrounding my car, then proceeded to cross the dimly lit, brisk parking lot to the entrance of the venue. There were so many people in line! I was blown away by the turnout. I managed my way to the front, where my camera. press pass, and I were welcomed inside, thanks to DJ Rabbit's guest list (thanks again Rabbit, you and Hatter ROCK!).

I had never been on the "other" side or the "Hudson" side of the building before, so I decided to make a quick round of the facility before going on stage to photograph Rabbit and Hatter. I weaved my way thru the writhing crowd to the main stage on the Hudson half, and when I saw how large the dance floor and the stage were, and the glory of the laser/light display setup, I knew this would be an appropriate place for the likes of DJ Irene and Lenny V. to lay down their sets. A tingling anticipation swept thru me; I hadn't seen DJ Irene since the red carpet club in Hollywood now known as the Vangard used to be a dirty rave venue called Qtopia (hey who remembers that?).

After assessing the scene, which I found to be very visually appealing, I made my way back over toward the Hudson side, just in time to catch DJ Rabbit starting his set. I bounced upstairs towards the stage, which was a balcony set up, overlooking the multi-level dance floor below. At the top I found someone I had been looking forward to meeting, DJ Siesta Soul! We had been corresponding online, but had never met in person, so I was excited to make his acquaintance. He was a jolly fellow, but the poor bastard had the unpleasant job of herding bystanders away from the turntables. People, if you are gonna stand near the DJ, give him at least four feet of breathing room, okay? The last thing we need is for someone to bump the tables or the DJ and screw up the mix………
I had never heard Rabbit or Mad Hatter's music before, so I was curious as to their style and approach. Within a few minutes of Rabbit touching the stylus to the first record, I could tell I would enjoy the set. Hard, beautiful, trance music poured out of the speakers, embracing those below with its warm, loving embrace. The lasers seemed to feed off the energy produced by the bass; I felt almost hypnotized by the beat, inhaled, and smiled. I felt at one with the universe, and all my cares, worries and stresses from that other world, the one outside of the rave, seemed to melt away. Use of a microphone amped the crowd up that much more ("What up everyone!!! Who is having a good time??!"), and the whole room seemed to bounce in unison. Unfortunately, Mad Hatter wasn't able to join in due to some complications with the CD decks, but other than that, the set was flawless.

After Rabbit came one of my favorite trance DJ's of all time, DJ Samurai!!! Luckily the CD decks were up and running at this point so he could work his magic. I was so excited to be breathing the same air as the man while he was in action I could hardly contain myself. Samurai's set was at the same time slot as DJ Irene's (of course, damn I wish there were 2 of me so I could watch them both simultaneously!), so I reluctantly pulled myself away from his set so I could go catch the last half of hers.
The main room was in full swing. Mardi Gras themed masks, sexy lingerie, and colorful glow sticks were everywhere! It was indeed a glorious feast for the senses. The RD crew and I met up along the way to the front of the stage, where I showed security my press pass and business card. However, the security guard wouldn't let me onstage. I argued, begged, pleaded, but he wouldn't budge. I was frustrated. All I wanted to do was get some good close-ups of Irene! Then I noticed Siesta Soul onstage, watching Irene work the decks. I sent him psychic messages to turn his head and notice me, so I could accomplish my mission. After about 30 minutes, right when I was going to give up and go dance in the center of the crowd, Siesta Soul turned his head. I saw a look of recognition cross his face, and he pointed at me, then waved for me to come onstage. I pointed to the stubborn security guard, and Siesta walked over. "She's cool", he said. Just two words, that's all it took, and then I was within 5 feet of the goddess herself.

She remixed some of my favorite records ("They know what is what, but they don't know what is what…they just strut…what the fuck?"), and she played some mixes new to me also, including "Sweet Child of Mine". It was sick!
One of the things I love most about seeing Irene live is that she is always having such a damn good time. She was laughing, smiling, throwing her hands in the air, screaming at the crowd, taking pictures and video……she seemed to be having more fun that anyone on the dance floor. Quite a statement, considering the craziness that was going on out there; girls mounted on friends shoulders, lightshows galore, people dancing on tables and countertops, freakin' awesome, complete, madness.
As DJ Irene's set neared its end and Reza got ready to take over, AMS impressed me yet again with a gorgeous balloon drop. Hundreds of balloons dropped lazily down from the ceiling onto unsuspecting, pleasantly surprised ravers below, right as the house music built into a bass ridden frenzy. It was like New Year's, but without the whole new year thing. I love it when production companies do things like this. The little details make the event huge, and keep us loyal subjects wanting more.

I love Reza and always enjoy his music, but he had the same time slot as another deejay I hadn't seen in many years; Mystre! So I left the main room and headed back to the balcony to bask in the glory of Mystre's trance. I still can't believe he was there. Back in the day it used to be "Mars and Mystre" and then things kinda fell off and so did some of the deejays from that time. And there he was, a legend just feet from me. Of course his set was fantastic and didn't disappoint in the slightest. There was so much talent at Mardi Gras 4 I almost felt dizzy.
At 3am, Mystre's set was coming to a close, and another legendary deejay was starting his set in the main room, so I migrated once more from the balcony to the stage. Lenny V. is an especially important deejay to me personally because my first rave, Cotton Mouth 2000, was thrown in honor of his birthday. I feel he is partially responsible for influencing my now 9 year addiction to raves. Like Mystre and Irene, I hadn't seen Lenny's name on a flier in a very long time.
On my way to the house room, I decided to pause for a moment and take a breath of fresh air, which in my language means going into the jungle room and getting a dose of some ¾ time beats. It was like stepping into another world, just the way I like jungle rooms to be; with green lights, no strobes, and plastic plants and shrubbery enshrouding the stage and speakers. I found the popping circle, but my legs were starting to punish me for being on them for more than 12 hours, so I just kind of hung out and soaked up the rough and tuff d'n'b being mixed up by APX-1.

DJ Dyloot, who also performed on the Balcony Stage

Feeling refreshed, I decided it was time to go see Lenny V. Security remembered me this time, so getting on stage was much easier than when I was trying to photograph Irene. The crowd was still going strong, and Lenny seemed to feel the loving vibe and return it to them ten fold. After about 20 minutes, someone came up to me and told me there were too many people on stage. Yeah, but I am a journalist trying to get some good pics of Lenny. Doesn't matter, off you go. Oh well, I was getting too tired to fight. I had gotten some decent pics, so I sauntered off to take pictures of the back of the main room, and then I went back to the balcony to check out X-Phactor's trance. I had been running around like a mad-man, taking hundreds of pictures and trying to hear as many deejays as possible. And since I drove myself into the Inland Empire from the Antelope Valley to cover this party, I was sober. Needless to say, I was starting to burn out. I enjoyed X-Phactor's set too, and as it neared its end, I decided to take the next half hour off and go disappear back in the Jungle room. At this point it was after 4am, so the crowd was starting to thin out a little. I found a corner in the back of the room where I could put down my camera and backpack for a few moments and just dance to the sound of Mikey B., nothing else. It felt nice, and I decided that it had been an excellent night. Then I remembered the long drive ahead of me, and how it was supposed to rain that morning, so I decided it was time for me to leave.
I went back to the corner where I had stowed my belongings, only to find that an entangled couple had planted themselves in the very same spot. I excused myself as I squeezed my way past them to grab my things. The girl looked up at me and said, "It's okay. It's my first rave! What's your name? Do you want a piece of candy?". Normally I would reject such a colorful offer, but something about the look in her eyes; the innocence, the purity, the perfect awe of being exposed to a world she didn't, until this night, knew even existed, melted my cold junglist heart. So I graciously accepted her offer, only to realize that I had nothing to offer in return. Once again, she said that was okay, and she looked at her bracelet laden wrists thoughtfully. After a moment, she interlocked her fingers with mine, and carefully slid the selected bracelet off her wrist and onto mine. This may have been her first rave, but someone taught her the old-skool style of trading candy beads. For the millionth time that night, I smiled, and felt that this interaction had somehow completed my adventure, and now it was appropriate for me to leave. I grabbed my things, and stepped out of the shelter of the Hudson/Gotham into the rainy streets of reality.
It wasn't until the next day that I actually looked at the bracelet that the little girl in the jungle room gave to me. If junglists were to wear candy, this would be it. I love green and white, and yes, I love ganja. Whoever you are, you read me like a book, and thank you very much for the bracelet. I haven't taken it or the smile off since Saturday……………

Thanks to AMS Entertainment for throwing a sick event! Thanks to DJ Rabbit for hooking it up with the guestlist! And mad thanks go out to Siesta Soul for helping me get pics of Irene! I love all you guys and look forward to my next bass fix………..

"Gearheads Under 30" - Featured in the July 2010 issue of Auto Restorer Magazine

-This was featured in the July issue of 2010. For those who aren't familiar with this mag (http://www.autorestorermagazine.com/ar/), Auto Restorer is a low budget monthly periodical that is geared towards the old school domestic crowd. It's filled with wonderful how to's, tips, tricks, and other such information. Anyways, my article is slated for a series they have been running called "Gearheads Under 30", where young mechanics submit bios and pictures of their work.  I hope you enjoy this article. Huge thanks to Jason Simons for his tireless assistance with the editing!



Before I tell you about myself I would like to take a few moments to introduce you to my car—she is far more important anyhow; without her I am but a lowly ape that happens to possess a modest tool collection. How does one begin to describe the enigma known as the Toyota MR2? Well, one way to start is by examining the specs and history of the vehicle. There are three main generations of the MR2, but we will focus primarily on the first, also known under chassis code “AW11,” as that is what I have my current love affair with. Back in the mid ‘70s Toyota decided to undertake a project that would result in providing for the “average driver” a car that is both fun to drive and economical. Apparently the initial vision was nothing resembling a sports car or mid-engine chassis. But after three years of design and experimentation with engine placement it was determined by Toyota’s Research & Development that the most desirable power plant location for near-perfect weight distribution was mid-ship and transversely mounted. From this base model concept, the evolution into quasi sports car was inevitable. The MR’s fate was sealed when Toyota elected Lotus to design and tune the suspension and chassis, and Yamaha to blueprint the cylinder heads. Additionally, it didn’t help that countless hours of extensive testing were spent on real-world tracks, such as Willow Springs Raceway, with professional drivers like Dan Gurney behind the wheel. Finally, in the spring of 1984, history was made and the first mass-produced, “mid-engine, rear wheel drive, two-seater” was unveiled to the world. It was welcomed with open arms by the driving community, and received rave reviews from many esteemed publications. Car and Driver Magazine considered the Toyota MR2 as worthy enough to be listed on its 10 Best for 1986 and 1987. In 1986 the magazine stated, “Any car with a higher fun-per-dollar quotient would never be allowed by the IRS.” The TV show Top Gear rated the “Mister Two” as number 11 out of 152 models reviewed via their “Top Gear Survey”. Automobile Magazine was impressed enough with Toyota’s introduction of the mid-ship runabout to feature it on the cover of its inaugural issue– facing off against a Ferrari 308GTBi! The magazine’s website states that their owner, David E. Davis, Jr., was quoted as saying, “God help the Italians if the Japanese ever decide to build supercars." I wonder what Mr. Davis thought of the Honda NSX when it debuted in 1990!

So let’s crunch the numbers. The curb weight of a fully-optioned AW11 is a mere 2400 pounds. The engine powering this featherweight is the legendary 4AGE, which at the time of the MR2’s induction had already built a reputation for versatility, strength, and efficiency through its employment in the Corolla chassis. It is an inline, four-cylinder, iron block, dual overhead cam, and 1.6 liter: offering several variations in head and intake design and featuring Bosch L-Jetronic fuel injection and variable intake geometry (TVIS). It was an incredibly revolutionary economy engine, as it was one of the first mass production motors to feature dual overhead camshafts and four valves per cylinder. Yamaha’s ingenious abilities with head design explain the 4A’s capacity to maintain ruthless efficiency and performance throughout the entire powerband. The US version is rated at 112hp @ 6600RPM’s and 97 ft-lbs of torque @ 4800. A super charged version provided a bit more pack in its punch, offering about 140HP and 109ft-lbs. Though such outputs for a 1.6 liter are impressive, specs like these for a “sports car” seem dismally low. But when you examine the data collected by Road & Track magazine during their trial run of the AW in November of 1984, you may think twice about these unassuming road warriors. Upon testing, R &T found the power to weight ratio to be 0.116, or about the equivalent of a 1954 Corvette Convertible. Additionally, it rated 0.84g of lateral acceleration on the skid pad, right on up there with the BMW M3. Add that to the fact that the engine’s stock redline is about 7500RPM’s, and you have one rev-happy, responsive little mid-engine that could. At stock setup these cars aren’t preferential for going straight, but take one for a day of auto crossing at the track or a cruise through the mountains and you will appreciate the enthusiasm displayed by just about any professional who is given the keys.

Thus the Mister Two has developed a bit of a cult following over the years. Examine its inexpensive initial cost, well-supported aftermarket, rock solid reliability, simple design, and addictive personality, and you can see how such a car would be attractive to a gearhead under thirty. I know many readers of this fine periodical don’t care much for Japanese makes. I myself love good ole American muscle, especially the less common makes like those of AMC and Mopar; it’s what I was raised on (my first love as a little girl was a 1969 Mustang Convertible). There is definitely no replacement for displacement. Eventually I will have my Challenger T/A, my AMX, and my Chevelle, but they are just too expensive for me to own at this point in my life. So, like many of my fellow youth, the Japanese car scene offers me more bang for my buck. At first it was just a substitute for the more costly makes. Had it not been for a mere twist of fate I may never have entered this world. I discovered MR2’s the same way many in the community have: by accident and sheer, dumb luck. Several years back I found myself looking for a reliable four cylinder for a daily driver after prematurely killing my 1991 Toyota Pick-Up (story for another time). I was by no means looking for a sports or performance car. But when I came upon a Crimson Red, second generation MR2, with T-Tops and “For Sale” signs right up the street from my house, I was intrigued and stopped to look. I had always admired MR2’s from afar, but never seriously considered owning one. Before I could get too much drool on her, the owners came out and offered me a test drive. Unwittingly I accepted, got into the drivers’ seat, started the car, and instantly fell in love with the sensation of the engine purring to life behind me. I could feel it mumbling sweet nothings to me through the back of the seat, muttering tales of apexes and canyon roads, enticing me to push harder, begging to be tested. I put the transmission into gear and never looked back. What started off as a “temporary” relationship has grown into a full-on obsession with pre-OBDII Japanese cars. I am now on my second MR2. I restored the 1991 T-Top and sold it to a fellow enthusiast up north. My current project is a 1987 hardtop with bare bones options that I rescued from a kid in the LA area. She was in terrible shape, but hardtops with manual transmissions, steering, and doors are rare. So when the VIN came back clean I was ecstatic to tow her home. She probably weighs less than 2200 pounds soaking wet. I am totally in love with the car and am enjoying the heck out of restoring her. My long-term plans are to make her a track toy, but since I am working on a starving artist’s budget I am focusing on just getting her in safe, running condition and cleaned up for the time being. I have gotten a pretty good start and am quite close to getting her back on the street. Thus far I have cleaned up the suspension, overhauled the brakes, rebuilt the master cylinders, replaced the engine with a freshened-up stronger 4A, replaced all the hoses in the engine bay, replaced all the filters and fluids, relocated the battery from the engine bay to the trunk, and started the process of cleaning up the paint and body. If all goes well, by the time you are reading this, “Mary” and I will be enjoying the view from one of our favorite mountaintops.

So who am I? Well I’ll tell you who I’m not: I’m not a “ricer.” People often assume that because I like Japanese cars I like “rice rockets.” They are two very different kinds of car. To sum it up, rice rockets are “all show, no go.” Personally, I use the phrase to describe any cheesy or over-the-top auto craftsmanship in general, not limiting it just to the brand. Unlike most young enthusiasts, those you may know as the “rice rocket” owners, this mechanic has been educated by mentors with racing and hot rod backgrounds. Mentors that preach meticulous attention to detail, doing things right the first time, planning and foresight, layout, knowing your roots, and keeping up with resources like Auto Restorer. I have had the privilege of working with crew chiefs who tune suspensions without computers or lasers, and the honor of apprenticing under fabricators who still make everything by hand. I have borne witness to dying arts like “lead filling.” These are experiences that cannot be bought, comprising of knowledge that cannot be sold. I carry this wealth of information with me like the most precious of gems, forever searching for more to add to the collection. My tireless curiosity and the desire to always improve myself and grow as a person are some of the reasons why I enjoy turning wrenches. Another example of why I like working on cars, especially the ones that require restoration, is the sense of patience one gains. The second you allow your emotions to get control of a situation, you have lost. Learning to be in command of your mental state is invaluable, be it under a car, behind the wheel, or in any other aspect of life.

Lastly, I am passionate about cars and motor sports because, well, I just… really, really love them! Cars are my life. The enamor I have for them is hard to explain to those who do not share it. The subject is always on my mind in some form, warping my beliefs, mindsets, and topics of conversation. Something about turning wrenches is incredibly therapeutic. If I go more than a few days without it, I get this itch in my soul that can only be soothed by getting my hands dirty. Whenever I feel restless or need a quiet place to think I seek the quiet meditation of the drivers’ seat. I savor the sights, sounds, smells, and textures of all things automotive: high-octane fuel, throaty exhausts, Brakleen, smoking tires, Loctite. I dream of apexes, drag-strip trees, and circle-track “marbles.” Encountering any such stimuli immediately sends me floating on an ephemeral wave of euphoric delirium. I am enamored by well-managed fabrication, the insanity of Sprint cars, and the beauty of a finely-laid TIG bead. I acknowledge that I am doomed to spend mass amounts of money on high-quality tools and OEM parts for as long as I live…
In short, I am a gearhead; I also just so happen to be female.

Often I am asked how I got into cars. Last time I checked we all get in the same way: through the door! My apologies, you will find that I am a bit of a “smart Alec,” though I have come to find that many mechanics are. I mean it all in good fun! To address the question, my father was one of my biggest influences. I am the oldest of three girls and so I was the designated Flashlight Holder and Brake Bleeder Assistant. He and my mother focused on and fed my love of science, insatiable desire to understand how things work, and always told me I could do anything I wanted regardless of gender or any other reason. Throughout grade school I dreamed of being an astronaut or forensic scientist, but as I grew older I realized my constant need for stimulation could never be met in a lab. After leaving high school early I did what you are “supposed to do” and started college coursework, but I struggled to find a field I could envision being actively involved with on a day to day basis for the rest of my working life. Around this same time an ex boyfriend of mine & Honda CRX enthusiast exposed me to the import tuning world, which was the initial spark in my current fanaticism. After a few years of my continued on again/off again love affair with college, I chose to attend Universal Technical Institute in 2006, where my addiction was fully unleashed, and the rest is history. Plus, I loathe desk jobs or places of employment where you have to “look busy” and deal with eight levels of management. I can’t deal with that. I may be young but I started working at 15 and have held all levels of corporate positions and they always, always motivate me to crave something more creative and less mundane. That’s one of the many reasons why I have never worked for a dealership. I am not here to badmouth anyone or say anything negative. I’m just saying that type of environment is not for me. I have no desire to work as a “tech,” making flag rate and fighting others for the gravy. I much prefer the freedom and creativity of racing or restoration. Today’s unstable world and turbulent economy makes pursuit of such careers seem futile. People under 30 are some of the hardest hit by the recession. As I write this the unemployment rate for the 16 - 24 age bracket hovers around 40 to 50%, depending on which source you use. But I have plans, dreams, and goals that I’m unwilling to give up on without a fight. I feel the youth of today could ensure their long-term survival as well as aid in the revitalization of the financial system if we proactively participate in finding solutions through the use of our skills, talents, and creativity. The spirits of entrepreneurship and exploration are part of what this great country was founded upon. Now more than ever we, as American citizens, need to get back in touch with our roots. I may be running a miniscule operation out of my garage today, but who knows what tomorrow will bring? If I stay focused and dedicated the possibilities are limitless, and it doesn’t get much more American than that.

"Definition of a Gearhead" aka "The Day I Was Bitten"

This was written several years ago, on a day spent with some very influential gearheads in my life at that time. I just came across this and laughed, because its true:

“So I have discovered a new addiction:
Cars.
I have become bitten by the bug.
Now, don’t get me wrong I have always loved cars, I work on them, I read about them, and until this very moment considered myself to be a “gearhead”.
But today I hung out with kids my own age or younger who are actually living, eating, breathing, dreaming it.
Working in garages on their Corollas and Hatches. Spending their time scraping money together for parts and track time and tires. Yeah, they party, but that is not their primary goal from day to day.
I have spent the last 10 years chasing one rave, one party, to the next....
And I could have been spending my time running canyons and building motors instead.
People bitch about living in this shithole Antelope valley, and yes it is not the most exciting place to live.
But if you are a lover of car control, then “Canyon country” is the perfect place to be!
I mean, we have so many roads back here to play on. One could spend endless hours running and tuning and running and building and tearing down and doing it all over again.
I never really realized.
Until now.
And now that it has hit me, now that the haze has cleared from my mind and I see things for how they really are for the very first time, I realize how much time I have wasted. What I have been searching for, chasing down relentlessly this whole time was right in front of me.
And now that I have had a taste, I want to jump in head first and never look back.
I enjoy hanging out with other mechanics and watching them fabricate and work on their cars, but its time for mine now. I am fully capable of taking on my own project, saving money and working at it a little bit every day.
And the thought of that exhilarates me to the point that I feel high. I want to start tearing the garage up right now so I can make it into a user friendly work space. I am filled with energy and desire that I have never really experienced before. For some reason I had never really thought of myself as capable of doing this on my own, but now I see that I am more than able to.
Its so refreshing to be surrounded by people who are my own age who are living this lifestyle. Prior to this my experiences had been with my mentors and influences, most of which are at least twice my age. Not that there is anything wrong with that, “old guys rule” etc, but to have found that within my own age bracket is something new to me. Its inspiring and engaging.”


Since I have written this I have developed massively as a person and a mechanic. Its become a more potent part of my personality. I do work independently on my own projects now, and have the confidence and experience to manage others’ projects. I allowed the sickness to inundate my very being down to the core, and now I eat, sleep, breathe, dream it on a daily basis.
Most laugh when I tell them that “cars keep me out of trouble”. I guess there is plenty of trouble to be had via cars with the law and the land….But for me its true! If I’m not in the garage or at an event on a weekend night, you can almost guarantee that I’m out and about running amok in the Los Angeles underground. (Tho sometimes the two elements mix and it’s the most beautiful union on the planet.)
A perfect example is just this last Saturday. I had plans to attend a car meet with someone very special to me, and at the last minute things on his end fell through. So I end up with my buddies and some bottles of Blue Moon instead. Next thing I know its 3am and I’m at the Henry Fonda Theater in Hollywood taking shooters at the bar with Judge Jules spinning house in the background. And the night lasted til about 7am, which means I slept all Sunday and got nothing done.
Now let me be clear I am not blaming others for my actions, I am a big girl, I am responsible for all my decisions. Also there is nothing wrong with partying every once in a while and I will never apologize for my chosen lifestyle, nor should anyone unless that lifestyle compromises others.

What I am trying to say in this rambling message is that daily contact with cars helps keep me grounded, sane, balanced, collected.
Keeping my hands dirty keeps me clean.
And that my friends, is the definition of a Gearhead.

"Los Angeles" poem written in a NoHo park circa 2002

i walk the streets of the city
it greets the nitty-gritty
day in and day out
while we struggle to be pretty
if i could
i would leave this vain existence behind
become one with the bricks and cement that i find
as my feet lead me in the direction they desire
i'd grow old with the steel fences and barbed wire
many are inspired by tall trees and mist shrouded mountains
but i am moved by well worn bridges and whispering fountains
so let the rivers of afar
meander on their way
i'm gonna seek solace
in the arms of the city
for today..................

"The Scheme of Things" (orig posted on myspace 12/22/08)

"my car is like my own personal universe
she's my drug and it only takes 12 bucks to fill 'er up
and in my galaxy there ain't no room for earth
so i'm leavin it cuz i can feel my oil pressure building up
turning over the ignition of my solar system
check the gauges, push in the tape
put my foot on the brake
shift existence, light my cigarette
and take it state to state
until i crash into my fate..."
-slug (atmosphere)

it doesn't matter what may have happened during the day, i know that The Mountain will always be there for me.
i hit the streets in the direction of my favorite local peak, feeling relief at just the thought of traversing its glorious twists and turns.
a pang of excitement runs thru me like electricity as it comes into view. regardless of how many times i have been up here, i get the butterflies as i enter the canyon and accelerate into the great abyss.
all my problems dissipate as i turn into the apex. i feel the stress and negative energy drain from my body, and i smile.
the tires and the ecu warm up and i push her a little harder.
the thrill of the chase. the exhilaration of the unity between (wo)man and machine. sometimes i am aware of what drives me, what i am trying to escape. other times i am not. all i do know is that The Mountain will make me feel better. help me break my problems down into manageable, bite size pieces. i find a zen-like peace in this place. when i am driving i feel truly free from everything, even myself. especially myself.
and when i reach the top, i pull off to the side and let my trusty steed rest for a moment. i take in the view from up high. looking down at the city below makes me realize how petty we all are, all the bullshit is, how this very planet is but an infinitesimal spec in the grand scheme of things...
gazing upward into the heavens, i marvel at how beautiful and mysterious this world, this universe is, and how amazing it is to be apart of it. "celebrate this chance to be alive and breathing". everything is in perspective now. things are back in their place. i feel right, sane, whole, once again.
i am ready to go back down.
if the weather is good i am borderline reckless, scaring the shit out of anyone who happens to be riding shotgun. always in control, but sometimes just barely. its a good ride down if you manage to frighten yourself a little bit. always pushing. always wanting to know how far i can go before i reach the edge and still walk away.
when i reach the bottom, i am totally consumed by the rush. i immediately want to go back up and do it again, and again. lord knows i would if i could afford the tires and fuel. but i sure as hell can't. i'm driving on toasted suspension as it is and really have no business hauling ass up and down canyons right now, but i just can't help myself. i make excuses to take back roads whenever possible. i have spent whole days just driving for the sake of driving. i need it, like oxygen or sunlight.
people who don't understand say its a waste of time, money, gas. they complain when you spend hours with the project or researching specs online or don't understand what you talk about half the time because they don't have the same habits or addictions.
but in the scheme of things, there are far worse vices to have. in the scheme of things most people don't know jackshit. but The Mountain always does. i can hear it calling me, always calling...and i will always answer.

"Summertime" poem circa 2008

i stretch myself slowly out of winter’s bitter slumber
coaxed awake by the calling of spring and all her empty promises
thunderheads swell on the horizon
roll thru the sky with threats of thunder and lightning
expressing their anger in loud, frightening gestures
unleashing warm rains, awakening rivers and springs
then suddenly they are gone
dissipated
leaving behind nourished refreshed bursting life
joyful and glorious in all of its abundance
the embrace of the warm breeze
the vivid colors of the land and sky
the touch of the golden sun against my skin
i want to soak it all up
max out all six of my senses
the rolling hills
the breath of the trees stirring in the restless air
the calls of lazy insects
it all culminates in a beauty that’s almost painfully overwhelming
i can’t believe i am here
in this place
at this precise moment in time
wandering freely and without care
like this day will last forever
stretching out into one endless season
of sunlight and laughter and bold exploration
feeling at one where the wild things roam
on top of the world
spying upon those below with eagle eyed intent
i wish i could grow wings
and never have to return to reality
just float
from meadow to valley
mountain peak to forest
never looking back
until the moon calls me home
to my place in the heavens
settling down at last
in a state of peace and winter’s gentle slumber