Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Mina, Bram Stoker’s Dracula [1992]

My lifespan at best will be about 100 years, counting potential advances in medical miracles and my penchant for personal abuse. So turning 50 in the middle of a global pandemic is unequivocally the halfway point in my idolatry on the face of Mother Earth. It is all downhill from here — evidenced by “Senior Moments’ of trying to remember what I was just talking about as my Dad puts it or the myriad of aches and pains and home surgery my body complains about as it is slowly breaking down. Mortality gazing — like doomscrolling — is a thing; what is your legacy?

Bad news, kids: you encounter death more and more often as you grow older. In fact, it is part of the ToS you don’t remember clicking through when you were born.

My first death was my father’s grandmother in Palm Springs. My clearest memory of her is visiting her in the old folks’ home, and I was playing on the stone wall of the circular stacked-rock fountain they had in the middle of their lobby, slipping off, and then stumbling backwards trying to catch my balance until I crashed into some other resident in her wheelchair. My parents were mortified more than usual and so was I.

Biollante the irrepressible Rose Bush at Robin Street

My Great Grandma loved roses. Specifically pink ones. I used to stay in her room after she passed on when we would visit the Andrews in Palm Springs. It was a tiny single mattress in a smallish room in a house made of alabaster adobe walls and wrought iron. But there was a glorious mural above that bed: delicate pink rose blossoms, swirling thorny stems, praying verdant leaves. My Grandma Andrews also loved pink roses; obviously due to her Mother, who somehow came to live with her from Scotland across an ocean to California. I am pretty sure both of these ladies had those old-school squeeze-bulb pumps for their rose water as perfume. I was absolutely thrilled to find an unruly, sadly tended, and tragically unloved rose bush as a bonus when I rented Robin Street. My Mom commented on smelling the blossoms that this was not one of those newfangled hybrids; this was an unadulterated strain that was unmistakably organic and true, probably planted in the 60’s when the house was built. I named her Biollante after the 90’s Godzilla movie where a rose was crossed with G-DNA and it turned into a Kaiju. Without my gardener crew to take a gas-powered hedge clipper to her once every few months, Biollante will flood my yard with sweet-smelling petals; she will grow to tower over my roof; she will sage my entire house with the comforting scents of my Grandma and Great-Grandma.

Biollante in Rose Kaiju form

I don’t think you ever forget the first time you have to deal with death as a concept. My Mom argued that my first IQ test was flawed because I was dealing with the death of my Great Grandmother; insisted that I take it again because I was certainly not a moron. Legend has it that I beat my brother Kyle on my second attempt. By 2 points. First Death is unique: it is the first time you have to grapple with never seeing someone again, and the regret that inevitably follows, creeping in like an intruder over time.

As I live this life, I have watched my Mom’s parents devolve into tube-ridden, bed-bound ER patients that couldn’t recognize their own kin. My Goddaughter Tyler, an incredible talent, tech witch, and influencer before influencers was ignored to death at Rady’s Children’s Hospital in San Diego before she could laughingly lead the way for Gen Z. My Aunt Nancy — one of the most incredible free spirits I have ever known — fought breast cancer for years and finally leveled up way too early. Bela Chris Feher went and fell off of Half Dome doing what he loved and left me here without his one of a kind fucked up opinions. Never mind losing visionaries and heroes like Prince, George Carlin, and — just a moment ago — Andrew Fletcher of Depeche Mode. Unfortunately, you get to watch your heroes die.

I have finally hung a pair of floating shelves that is the newest revision of the Shrine of the Angelkittn, where I have in chronological order, pictures of the 10 or so cats I have raised that I have sent into the beyond like a Pharaoh to greet me on the other side. I love my kitlets like my children: everyone has an experience with a companion dying and they were part of the family: this is another way death pokes holes in your soul. To this day I miss my murdered Mallory and his vanished brother Mickey, the Natural Born Kitlets. But I moved on and have a new pair, The Bravehearts, Murron Rae and Haemish Argyle, guided by the immortal Brother Barack. It is the least I can do to remember Samwise, Frodo, Cleopatra Mykelti, Kalvin Cromwell, Anastasia Katarina, Hobbes Niclaws, Atari Mogwai, Kanji Cloud, Mickey and Mallory. But you know what you’re responsible for: it’s outliving them, then remembering them.

I keep coming back to the top GIF, as it captures a wish. One you cannot have outside of retreating to a full self-imposed fantasy world or, from what I have heard, a serious heroin addiction which I am not interested in. The opposite of life is death: those are the scales we balance the cards that we’ve been dealt, circumstances be damned.

But please, take me away from all this death. My fundamental pieces — brain, heart, and soul — cannot take much more of this.

I love listening to media improperly loud to try to fully understand the artists’ impact. No, I am not deaf (yet). In fact, it’s been documented that I hear shit nobody else hears, even when music is playing: “Grubhub has arrived; I heard an unfamiliar motorcar and a sedan door open”. I’m just a big fan of when the bassline or the kick drum or the ricochets flying through the surround sound sucks the air out of your lungs and you can’t help standing up and jumping around and pumping your fist in the air.

Media is anything that I can listen to: movies, music, TV, podcasts, YouTube favorites, TikTok and K-Pop Stan videos, Audible books, friends FB posts — anything I can put through my sound system and process by letting the whole neighborhood know that I am going through “this”. I think I have only been visited by the cops twice in five years, and both times, SDPD was pretty fucking impressed with two things: one, how good it sounds and two, how fast I can turn it down without turning it off. I actually have a neighbor or two that cares enough to ask me “if I am depressed” because I haven’t played concrete-slab-breaking loud music in a few weeks. That’s nice.

2020 is a Shitshow

The first time I lost my job it was easy; fall back on the Murdochs, my understanding adoptive parents that just celebrated their 54th wedding anniversary. As I grew older, I had to do it myself, sometimes with the help of those legally binding Chinese finger-traps called “wives”. Everyone who has any character whatsoever has opened the pantry door and been dismayed that you have to choose between (the equivalent of) your last box of Kraft Mac’n’Cheese, some Chef-Boy-R-Dee mini-ravioli, Rosarita refried beans, and something else with a Big Lots or Dollar Store label that you thought sounded good because you were shopping hungry to eat until tomorrow. The fridge is empty because you can’t afford gas unless you’re driving to or from an interview. You salivate thinking about the emergency can of Spam you fried up two days ago. You also have no job prospects. [ here ]

There are 40 million Americans out of work as I write this, and it is climbing; in San Diego, it is one out of 5 people I know, heading to 1 of 4.. That number is low; it isn’t accurate, and the multiple layers of opaque government has admitted as much. I have witnessed friends of mine lose 20+ years of their life’s work, investment, tender care, and passion. There’s also 125,000 dead American citizens so far this year including yet another Black man executed by local police for no fucking reason: George Floyd. 2020 is by any definition, a shitshow.

You are the Shitshow

Anyone knows me has heard me wax poetic about how I have engineered my life to ensure: no kids, no wives, no roommates, no alimony or child support, all the while keeping up my generous nature and my deeply intrusive health checks on y’all Squad members. I still have two out of three Godchildren left, and they don’t really need me anymore. I have a spectacular if energetic Neffew who I love dearly, but my brothers Kyle and Jon have that handfull handled. I have my Murdoch parents to manage and that’s why I moved back to San Diego with this ridiculous California sunshine tax that I can’t live without about two decades ago. I have three wonderful kitlets that actually care more for me than I care for them; the benevolent Tyrannosaurus does have opposable thumbs for working a wet-fud can opener. The Trailer Park Boys call this the “Shit Blizzard”.

Just accept that you are definitely part of the problem. Until that happens, nobody is going to be able to see eye-to-eye, no matter what your different opinions are. I am what is savaged as a a cis-het white ableist privileged human in America with a great job I have done from home for years. I am lucky, because I am thee Froggacuda. I have to share the love as best I can, even if it is sitting alone in my garage playing loud music.

Suck it up, Buttercup.

Ward Off the Karma

Posted: August 9, 2018 in Uncategorized

Came home from work, sick of traffic and the heat. All 4 windows down, blasting White Panda mashup mixtapes to ward off the karma. Picked up smokes and beer and went home. Fed my cats their first dinner, turned on the fans, made sure nobody had broken in or any of my electronics had died, and turned on the Parlour. Checked out some 2018 festival DJ sets: everybody has to ask “are you feeling OK out there?” while jumping on the DJ table and then leaping off to some insanely calculated drop.

Marshmello, Krewella, Slushii, Carnage, Illenium — I sampled through a lot of them, backed with $10MM of plasma screens, intelligent lighting, fire cannons, paint hoses, haze machines courtesy of Ultra or Tomorrowland or Lollapalooza main stage. There is some excellent shit in there.

I wondered what I would play in my prime as DJ Lurk in that sort of setting — and the voices in my head immediately responded that this formula has been done before many times.

An example: Party Alarm, and it’s from 2002, out of my Essential Mixes. I just have to connect the dots back to DJ Lurk and some messages from the past to the future. There wasn’t a lot of difference when I switched from “professional DJs” to my own shit. In fact, I am better than anyone else for an audience of one: frankly, the most important critic: me. I am really fucking good.

Party Alarm [July 28, 2002]

Check it out if you want DJ Lurk at your house in festival mode.


Posted: July 8, 2018 in Uncategorized

I refer to my Virtual Lilypad more often than I expect to. It is not a healthy blog if it isn’t updated regularly. Every time I visit I have to be faced with my last post remembering my murdered baby Mallory. You wouldn’t know that he is back as the murderous 8-lived she-devil kitlet Murron. Her brother Haemish plays in a Skype D&D campaign as a 18″ tall Compsognathus that eats Kobolds for breakfast, and in person, is a savage ham-and-cheese-sandwich. Since I have to be my own hype man, here’s a more current post.


  • Cadence — say something on the reg
  • Bite-Sized — “write and be prolific / not everything written is monolithic” ~Michael Murdoch
  • Historical — blog definition: timestamp, content

My current project is dope as fuck: I took my Top 10 Albums post and compiled them in a folder in order. These are my Desert Island tracks that I couldn’t live without. Obviously there needs to be a 2020 update, but putting the entire folder on shuffle play is amazing and inspiring. Lots of #feels for sure, but a self-tuned playlist for myself.

I recommend that everyone try it, especially if you love music as much as I do. It’s nice to do a bunch of sequential Facebook posts about what albums are special, and tag people — I get it. Try building yourself a Top 10 GOAT comp locally and put it on shuffle play. Try mine. I’ll certainly check yours out.


Goodnight Mallory

Posted: February 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

I have never had a kitlet die in my arms like this last Sunday morning, February 12, 2017. At 5:45AM, I was fast asleep in my bed. Brother, who was at the end of my bed, stood straight up and caterwauled like something foreign and dangerous was in the room with us. It was Mallory, whose eyes were dilated as far as they could go, and his breath was hitching horribly. He collapsed on the carpet, struggling mightily to breathe. I leapt out of bed, flipped the lights on and knelt by him to figure out what was wrong. This was not a hairball or the typical “I ate something and now I am going to puke it on the carpet for you” — Mallory could not breathe. I picked him up and tried to Heimlich anything out of his stomach; I wrenched his jaws open and tried manually clearing his airway. When I put him down, he collapsed on his side, tongue lolling out, eyes wide, and I started CPR, pressing his chest to keep blood pumping. I tried to breathe for him, forcing air into his lungs. He didn’t respond; I heard his heartbeat grow faint, then silent. This was over the space of maybe 3 minutes, and I want to remember how it feels to be completely impotent when someone you love dies way too early in your arms. I also want to remind myself that I did everything that I could to save my son. It is the tritest of platitudes, but I fully believe Mallory has gone to a better place.

As I write this, to my right is the executive chair that was Mal-Mal’s perch whenever I wasMallory-Knox-Executive-Chair-真路利.JPGworking and he wasn’t making the rounds of the neighborhood like the little soldier he is. I still am separating the evening wet fud into two bowls, because Brother doesn’t know how to eat without consuming his half and then having to search for the other half of the can after Mallory has eaten his share. I keep hoping that he will just come strolling in and stretch on my chair, keying the leather with his murderous claws, as he was wont to do. I am pretty sure there was a ghost step-step pawing on my chest Sunday night as I fitfully slept and ugly-cried holding Brother.

Whenever I am confronted with death, I am plagued with ghosts. I turn to other times that I have had one foot in the shadow realm and one here on this shitty planet. When I delivered the eulogy for my friend Bela Chris, I said that everyone has to grieve in their own way. I have had many cats before, and it is always impossible to prepare for and go through their loss. I am still processing exactly what to do about Mallory’s life being cut short by what I am almost 100% sure was poison. Local media has reached out to me regarding this as a potential story.

My brother Brian Freer and I put Mallory to rest in the earth not five feet away from where we found him and his brother Mickey — who vanished after only a year — in the Edgemont canyon. I cut a dozen pink flowers from the Biollante rose bush in the Robin Street backyard and spread the petals over him. Mallory is in good company at the foot of the tree where Kanji Cloud is also pushing up daisies, so at least I have that bit of apropos closure.


Goodnight, Mallory — you are the bestest kitlet, and I’m sure you’re happy to be reunited with Mickey. I’ll miss you something dreadful.

UPDATE: Ever since having to put Frodo down, this mix of Erasure’s “Rock Me Gently” has been my mournful song. Taking a lifeless cat’s body home for the first time, this track just happened to be cued up in my truck. Driving somewhere with a corpse in a paper box, I saw the sympathetic sun pierce through ragged clouds over Mission Valley, and I felt an ethereal peace. Now Mallory has joined this beautiful chorus of souls.

“And I dream you’re with me
You hold me sweetly
And rock me gently to sleep
In your arms”

Erasure – Rock Me Gently [A Combination of Special Events]  *Recorded from vinyl

This is where Mallory resides now; in good company with Kanji and perhaps Mickey, in the Edgemont Compound canyon, where we found him and his brother on a foggy 2012 Halloween evening.


I will always miss them all something dreadful.



Froggacuda's Weblog

A wastebasket is unloved
‘Cept for holding items you don’t want anymore.
Like pencil stubs
And old candy
And unhumorous bumper stickers
And Superman Underoos
And bad poetry mistakes
Like this one.

Maybe it isn’t so bad
Because you get to meet many different things
And you get to love and cherish each unique object
Until someone empties you with a flick of their wrist
Only leaving you with a small remnant;
A trail of greasy saliva or
A hardened piece of gum but
Mostly nothing.

And when you get old
And your plastic’s weak
And your wicker is sagging
And your metal is corroded
And your shine is gone
And your color is faded
And you refuse to let go of that one last bit
Of stuff you have held in your confines
For a long, long time
Maybe all of eternity
They’ll throw you into…

View original post 14 more words

The Morning Sun

Posted: May 24, 2016 in Uncategorized

Before the Stacks of Wax melt, here’s a pair of AFAIK vinyl-only mixes of New Order. Before 2016 takes any more musicians.

New Order On-USound Megamix Part 1:

New Order On-USound Megamix Part 2: 



Just Like Heaven

Posted: May 14, 2016 in Uncategorized

The Cure has a special place with any well-musicked child of the 80s. Here’s a special slice from the DJ Lurk Stacks of Wax.


The Greatest Prince

Posted: April 21, 2016 in Uncategorized

I don’t know how else to express my grief and joy regarding the level up of the greatest musician of my generation: Prince.

Here’s some freshly ripped DJ-Only vinyl for the celebration. Megamixes made of Diamonds and Pearls and Raspberry Berets. UPDATE: Added the best Prince mix I ever did hear; DJ Lurk fans can find it on Volume 4, Disc 2, Track 12.

This is for the real Prince fans; his #1 is Summer Rose, without question.

Music is my Project Management

Posted: September 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

I have a vendor / trusted advisor who casually mentioned the context of “rhythm” when it comes to communication. I had an epiphany; this was the word I was looking for to solve problems. The rhythm of comm — either you WILL dance or you won’t — it is your choice. The rhythm of communication is the key to successful business, but you have to be open to all types of music. Slavery Gets Shit Done - T-Shirt Hell

Music is a form of project management. BPM, lyrics, style, tone, flavor, genre, presence — if you are conditioned to rhythm to comprehend urgency, and focused on what to get done, you will move the ball forward. Music is a universal language that gets shit done. Slave to the music, as Grace Jones would advise.

Everyone does this naturally, but it still needs to be said: tune your music towards what you want to get accomplished. Halt your habit of just throwing on your latest favorite and then adjusting to that composition: DJ for yourself and then turn it up; put your headphones on and then get to work. Wave people off — get in your zone and get that shit accomplished. Then come up for air by taking your cans or earplugs off and breathe deep.

Grace-and-Arnold-ConanCommunication has a rhythm — make sure that your musical tastes influences those beats and melodies and lyrics. And then get shit done. Pull out your inspirational, high intensity favorites; put them in a playlist, and then focus on what you need to get done right now. Play it loud and ignore all of those distractions that are hovering around you like no-see-ums. I expect you’ll see immediate results once you get into the groove and then come up for air. Slave yourself to the music.

Governor Schwartzenegger and Ms Jones would agree, goofing around on the set of Conan the Destroyer — one of my favorite flicks — almost 30 years ago. Or, as Snap! would say from the early 90’s: “Rhythm is a Dancer“. Or take the same riff and get current in 2015 with Jeremih – Don’t Tell ‘Em. The upshot is this: make your music work for you; don’t just work for the music.

…now with video! Turntables are set up, and the CD mixers, when they feel like working. I’m going to try to get the Vestax VCI-100s attached to Traktor on the Dell tower I have running the broadcast to see if I can’t get some of that magic into the mix as well. This is alpha testing at the moment, but I am planning to try to get everything settled this weekend in time for a Sunday Sermon for the sub-genius faithful.

Same Bat Channel as always; bookmark it and watch the social streams for announcements that the Studios of Doom are live:

Posted: March 15, 2011 in Uncategorized

Kids today have missed the whole experience of putting the headphones on, turning it up to 10, holding the jacket, closing their eyes and getting lost in an album; and the beauty of taking your allowance money and making a decision based on the jacket, not knowing what the record sounded like. God, it was a magical, magical mark my words, in a generation from now people are going to say: ‘What happened?’ Steve Jobs is personally responsible for killing the music business.

Jon Bon Jovi

OK, let me point-by-point this:

“A magical, magical time.” It was a magical time because you were a teenager discovering music, one of the two most amazing things in life. There are still teenagers; there’s still music.

“Steve Jobs is personally responsible for killing the music business.” What S Jobs did was step in with a viable model when the music business was unable to come up with its own.

When Napster happened, in 1999, the record companies were right to be outraged; in 2003, when the iTunes store debuted, the record business was still trying to will itself back to 1997. Record company executives were at best unfamiliar, at worst ignorant about the internet itself. The companies were most proactive in their (extremely clumsy) attempts to protect their copyrights, not to revolutionize their business. Record company people who complained that revolutionizing their entire industry was daunting, maybe impossible, should’ve been aware—as capitalists—that they had a choice to adapt or perish.

The companies’ CEOs largely came into the record business in the 1970s. Were I the chairman of Time Warner or Seagram, and I wanted my investment to remain viable, I would’ve had to take the ruthless, but necessary, step of firing people with tremendous experience, seniority, and history, and replacing them with people aware of what was going down.

Now, the record companies still exist, but their executives’ jobs are vanishing. Those fired executives can’t find jobs at other companies, because those jobs don’t exist.

(A commentary about the J Bon Jovi statement on New York Magazine’s site said that S Jobs “…presented an online system that actually got artists paid.” Well, that’s no revolution: record companies do pay—if a band can recoup, which is usually impossible on a big label. My label ATO, which is a smaller company that couldn’t spend a whole lot of money, and thus didn’t spend much money to recoup in the first place, has paid me regularly.)

(I’m guessing that New York assumes, as many do, that it’s easy for an independent artist to get on iTunes. It is not, not, not. You still need a record company to get any kind of decent service from iTunes. I released an EP by the band the Panderers, and had to do it through IODA, an entity that exists because small-time artists can’t put their music on iTunes directly. And even IODA isn’t given much respect: a traditional distributor or larger label can choose a release date, but, with IODA, you have no idea when, exactly, your music will be released. You’re given a two month window in which your music MIGHT come out—could be later, could be sooner. That’s ridiculous.)

I’ve heard that Apple has fewer than 20 people working in their iTunes store department. No idea if this is true—but, given the bare-bones service, it makes sense.

“Kids today have missed the whole experience of putting the headphones on, turning it up to 10” Dudeman. My friend. The iPod = nothing BUT headphones. Volume: still an existent scientific phenomenon.

“…holding the jacket…” OK, Jon, I concede: record album covers were awesome.

(And ps, who could de-stem-and-seed weed, or sniff drugs, off an iPhone?)

“…the beauty of taking your allowance money and making a decision based on the jacket, not knowing what the record sounded like, and looking at a couple of still pictures and imagining it.” Beauty? Dude, that SUCKED. Because YOU HAD NO IDEA WHAT THEY SOUNDED LIKE. Record stores didn’t have listening booths. Hence, you bought a lot of shitty records. A LOT.

“…in a generation from now people are going to say: ‘What happened?’” Here’s one of the things that happened:

Do you remember hearing, “Why buy a whole CD when there’s only one good song on it” a lot? That was because MOST ALBUMS ONLY HAD ONE GOOD SONG ON IT. And CDs—cheaper to produce than vinyl LPs or cassettes—were nonetheless priced exorbitantly. Oh, and they phased out the single. You wanted the song, you overpaid for the whole shebang.

The companies didn’t produce quality product. When they heard a hit single, they put out an album, regardless of the quality of the rest of the song. Two examples:

Fastball, “The Way.” This, the single, was the only song on the album written and sung by the bass player. Did the company say, “Hey, sorry, guitar player, but the bass player’s better than you, go back to the woodshed so the bass player can write twelve more songs”? No.

Smashmouth, “Walking on the Sun.” Smashmouth were a punk/ska band. I guess they did this song as kind of a trifle, kind of a loungey-groovy sidebar—but it was the one sent to radio, and a huge hit. The record company didn’t send them back to the studio to make an album to match it.

(In fairness, Smashmouth moved on to embrace that sound on the next albums. But let me emphasize: ON THE NEXT ALBUMS.)

Guess what? People loved the songs when they saw the video, and they bought the CDs. LOADS of them. And most of them went back home, and were disappointed. Your consumer base learned a lesson: albums are almost always bad, even if the single is amazing. You guys taught them this.

Look, Jon: our industry lived by the sword. Sorry.

(via sweetlovehotcoffee)

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

LinkedIn folks, let’s hook up; I’m the best rec writer this side of @StacyZapar:

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

Me want @LadyGaga Japan Relief bracelet: send one my way and offset disaster for $5:

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

Seen on Tumblr: don’t be racist; be like the Panda…they’re Black, White, and Asian!

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

Facebook ProTip: if you click “see all birthdays” you can download them all to your calendar app at the bottom of that page…

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

Via @reddit: Japanese cats can haz ninja skillz; survives tsunami by clinging to wall:

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

Some ex-girlfriends are just wonderful creatures; others are worthless, self-centered, crazy pieces of shit. Why is there no in-between?


…and that’s at least 1/2 a million dollar swing in Lady Miss Gaga’s hips right thurr…

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

“The terms ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’ are two of the emptiest sounds in today’s political vocabulary” ~Ayn Rand

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

“…make your hand into a claw and tell them you’re a little monster and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” @LadyGaga

Posted: March 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

“Maybe listening is sexier than anything else you can do in public”

Posted: March 13, 2011 in Uncategorized

Godzilla backwards…

Posted: March 13, 2011 in Uncategorized


a ton of organizations and funds have rallied to provide relief to those affected by this disaster.  here are some options if you’re looking to provide some relief to the effort:

  • the red cross has launched efforts in japan.  visit or text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10 from your phone.
  • save the children is currently organizing efforts and donations to its children’s emergency fund.
  • international medical corps is responding to the health needs of the disaster’s victims.  to donate or learn about other ways you can contribute to its medical response, visit  also, text MED to 80888 from any mobile phone to give $10.
  • the japan earthquake and tsunami relief fund was launched at to garner funds that will be given to a variety of relief organizations helping victims of the earthquake.  it has already raised over $100,000, particularly from concerned twitter users around the world.
  • salvation army personnel are organizing efforts in tokyo and will soon send a team to help the severely damaged city of sendai, japan.  to contribute to earthquake relief, text JAPAN or QUAKE to 80888 to make a $10 donation or visit
  • doctors without borders is sending two three-person teams to the iwate and miyagi prefectures in japan.  to learn more about their efforts or to make a donation, visit

[photo source: here and here]
[info source: here]