been a minute since I broke this record out. Cold House got a lot of play from when when I was reading a lot of books about paranoid fuckheads questioning their reality while I was settling in to a hour and half commute via bus to school because of a fucking dui, which meant I sat on cool concrete blocks under the vanishing shade of palm trees as the hot breath of desert just started to kick in while I waited for my valley metro limo to take me to a 7am class at a university full of people that I didn’t want to exist in my world just so I could end my day sleeping in the engineering library face first in a book that was suppose to teach me something that it never did.

It’s been years since I listened to this album but that’s the thing man I don’t throw away music. I don’t care if I out grow it, mildly found it interesting, or just don’t even remember what it was. The thing with music is that so much of it is centered around moods and memories for me. I can’t tell you when an album dropped or hell even most of the songs on the albums names. But I can tell you what I was doing in my life when I heard those songs or they remind me of a period in my development as a human. They are memories and regardless of how good or bad they are they are a part of my psyche and I don’t forget shitty things in my life either. They are memories of myself and I like myself, even the weird, obnoxious, asshole, lonely, regrettable and boring parts about myself. 

Not to say Hood is shitty, I like hood but I’m just saying this album hasn’t gotten play in a while because I haven’t been in that mindset that I was in the desert autumn of 2001 when I was burning bridges left and right and fucking up all the time.

That’s also probably why a little over a year later I bailed on that town and moved to San Francisco.