How did I get here?

I used to tell people I dropped out of college after my freshman year. The truth is, my parents made me take a gap year because I was such a mess, and I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. Once they were done nursing me back to my true self—I got to work.

Think of a job—any job. I probably did it. Scooping dog poop, driving Lyft, farmers market sales, line cook, helping administer vaccines and the list goes on. Pretty much every penny went into funding my friends’ artistic endeavors with no contract in place and assuming we all knew what acting in good faith meant. We didn’t—but we learned together.

Odd jobs turned into money for SoundCloud marketing campaigns, art shows, location scouts and the precious moments of being in the trenches with your friends trying to put all the pieces together.

Documentaries were just supposed to be another odd job so I could keep helping my friends make shit. I didn’t realize that it would turn into one of the ways I make shit. The pooper scooping hours came in handy.

You’re reading this well over a decade later. A few albums, a few docs, a wedding, major label deals, partnerships, a lot of losses. Lots of self-care, when my wife reminds me I’m just as important as the work in front of me, as well as the friends and family I cherish beside it. I’m deeply grateful for them all.

But enough of this About Me shit—the AEs just said the footage has been ingested so I should probably get back to work.

Oh—and go Dodgers, too.

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