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Dirt.

May 1, 2010

 

Apparently you can't find fucked up recordings in Hawaii


Last week I was in the Romanian Alps, today I’m in East County San Diego, in a few days I’ll be in the Himalayans. A lot of time by myself? Yes. Do I meet very many people with stellar teeth? No. But I’m an international collector, and sometimes that requires you spend August in Death Valley because E-Bay shoppers don’t pay top dollar for the prosaic.

The thing I like about Justin and Aaron is they respect my profession. What I don’t appreciate is people rushing me. Anonymity has become a requirement for self-preservation, so things take a bit more time now. I don’t see anyone else on this project fielding terrified e-mails and phone calls from people that don’t speak English. Nor do I expect them to. I assume I’ve been brought into this for my formative paramilitary skills, as well as my tracking abilities. As flattered as I am, these dudes need to understand how unnerving it is finding hard drives at your motel doorstep every morning.

A picture of me typing this just appeared as a JPEG on my desktop. Assholes.

This has nothing to do with this entry but it is extremely important to me that you see it.

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