Had a bit of a panic attack on the day before Christmas, brought on by my acrophobia.
The worst part about waking up in the middle of the night is that the wakefulness sends me to a place of zero productive thinking.
After answering a bunch of questions, I can now say I am Gryffindor material.
Basically it comes down to a whole lotta white male-fronted, not-quite-mainstream rawk with some electronic/experimental thrown in to make me seem deep to myself.
I have a record of making messes in workplace refrigerators. It’s like a thing I do.
About a year ago I picked up a used copy of The Best of Herbie Hancock. Sure, enough, there’s “Maiden Voyage,” opening up side three.