|The Weird World of Blowfly|
|Blowfly asks that you be kind to the new music editor.|
If you live in South Florida and often are at shows, it is entirely possible that we've made eye contact. This is because I like to glare intensely at people, and also because I spend my afternoons obsessively checking events on Facebook, looking for concerts to attend once the sun has set. That's not to say that I am in any way cool or rad or extremely cool and rad, but rather to indicate that I am hung up on local and live music at this end of the earth, and I need to spend more time at home with my cat.
All of those nights at LIV yawning till 5 a.m. or standing in an echoing art space, blood trickling from my ears, have finally paid off. Hello, Broward. Howdy, Palm Beach. I'm the new music editor of your New Times.
As a writer, I should be able to poetically express how excited I am about this move. Instead, I'll just declare my devotion to you and hope you accept me for who I am, a Miami native just outside of her element, eager to learn about her new home. It's not like I've never spent time north of Dade County, but it's hard to deny that things change somewhere between Aventura and Hallandale.
I plan on staking the music scenes in Broward and Palm Beach counties. I'd like to show the world how much we have to offer above Ives Dairy Road and south of Hobe Sound. Past the beach, beyond the grain alcohol drinks, there is a scene here, there is music, there is culture, and there is quality of life that requires earplugs.
I've been writing for the Miami New Times as a freelance writer for two years now, attending shows, meeting bands, drinking at Churchill's. Taking Miami all in. With this northerly move, I promise to try my best to get to know you as intimately as I know Miami. I will meet all of your bands, singers, and DJs, learn your history, and hit up every space where a guitar is strumming, even if it means going to your cousin's bar mitzvah.
Maybe in the beginning, I'll need a little hand holding. Perhaps I will type words at which you will scowl as I learn the lay of your land. All I ask is that you write really mean comments about me when you see any errors, right down there. Degrade me, make me feel like I've totally screwed up, because then I'll force myself to get to know you even better.
Let me know where the best place is to find myself standing with arms crossed, harshly judging the performers. Tell me where I can hear music so good that I won't complain about my ears ringing the next day. Most importantly though, does anyone want to tag along to see Hot Rod
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