Holy shit. Internet stalkers are awesome. We here at OSS are awaiting the appearance of our own stalkers. Any minute now…!
In the mean time, I bring you this crazy post from the KCRW website.
Just to give you some context, it’s a comment posted on a recent show by Liza Richards (dj).
Here is the comment in its entirety.
Read the whole thing, I promise it’s worth it!
I’ve loved you from the first day I saw you. 1984 . Campus of South Gate high (GO RAMS!).
you were being escorted out with your dad after being expelled for that dental floss thing.
My backpack was broke and torn by seniors and I was crying on the sidewalk.
The sunlight reflecting off your short brown hair. You were so beautiful.
Your dad stepped on my math book.
Since you ran away from home and Cris rescued you from that orphanage in Oxnard
I’ve been listening to you on KCRW.
Living in South Gate, Downey, Fullerton, Buena Park. El Toro and Lake Forest. South Gate again. Lake Forest. Rancho Santa margarita. fullerton.
Wherever I went, you were there. Rocking it.
Even when I moved to Carlsbad and the reception is so bad, I knew you were there. Rocking it.
Year and years have gone by.
And today on my phone taking the coaster to work there you are. last weeks show. ROCKING IT! Sleigh Bells!
Well after all this time I thought I’d reach out and say hi and tell you a little about myself.
I believe in love at first sight.
I believe a man should be macho.
I believe in a diet heavy in protein.
I believe in running. running far. running often.
I believe in the collective unconscious.
I believe in tickling said collective.
I believe that a group of monks, maybe several groups have been chanting the existence of reality into reality.
Without them there would not be.
I also believe that powerful corporate firms have hired some of these same monks to chant product names and lobby for political gain.
I am certain a certain president got reelected that way.
I believe in cranberry buttermilk muffins.
I believe that coffee is a right, not a privilege.
Liza, I’d like to come to your house and play some tracks for you that you played for me many years ago. A glass or two of brandy. Then, make love to you on the plush white bearskin rug in front of your fireplace. Later I’d slip out the kitchen door before the sun came up forgetting my thumbdrive full of mp3s in your stereo.
Keep Rocking it Liza.