bummer it's daley

Best. Road trip. Ever.

2010-11-04T14:11:00.000-07:00

Go to Google Maps.
Get directions from "China" to "Japan".
Scroll down to step #42.

craigslist missed connection / funny story

2009-07-11T15:23:00.000-07:00

BART, ice hockey, and definitely no bras - m4w - 24 (oakland downtown)

Reply to: pers-8rxzj-1265203695@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}
Date: 2009-07-11, 3:23PM PDT

Okay, this was too good to be true.

My hetero-life-partner-in-crime and I are taking BART to play ice hockey in Oakland. You're at the BART station waiting for a train as well. I'm giving you silly eyes the whole time, and maybe you're giving them back to me, I dunno. Inconsequential at this point. You end up sitting just a bit behind us. At the next stop, a group of really annoying high school aged girls come on. They're standing right next to this hobo looking fella, let's call him Stanley. Well, I don't know if you could hear or smell this, but Stan had some disturbing gastrointestinal issues going on, and he was letting them rip.

The high school girls move away from him a bit (for obvious reason), and start rough housing/goofing around. My buddy and I confirm that in 30 years, when we'll making curfews for our daughters, we must remember this moment. At this point there's train issues, and we're held up a bit. There's a line forming next to the door to get off at the next station, I want to say it was Oakland City Center/12th St, but I don't exactly recall. Stan keeps farting up a storm. My friend starts making eyes a (non-high school) girl waiting to get off the train, let's call her Betty. You get in line to get off the train too. The doors open. Betty walks out. My buddy says, "Yeah, that girl wasn't wearing a bra." You and I make eye contact, we both crack smiles, giggle the tiniest amount possible, I say, "Oh..." (as much to you as to my friend) and you exit the train (mind the gap).

We made eye contact again through the BART window, and then I sped off on a train while you went to destinations unknown.

That was fun. Made my evening.

The Public Education System is Broken

2009-07-11T02:08:00.000-07:00

I was just walking home from a bar (duh) just up the hill from my apartment. These two trashy (not in a hot way) girls were walking their bikes up the hill going the opposite direction. One says to the other, as serious as cancer, "I know you said that it was easy to ride to the Mission because it was downhill. But it's hard on the way back." This girl didn't understand the concept of hills until 2:03 AM, the morning of July 11th, 2009... sometime in her mid-twenties.

Kobe vs. Barack

2009-06-04T11:28:00.000-07:00

If Barack Obama and Kobe Bryant traded places for the next 2.5 weeks, who would you be more worried for: America or the Lakers?

Kobe's trilingual, is probably more popular across the globe, has an icy composure, AND is a late game assassin. Oh yeah, plus America has the House, Senate, and Supreme Court, with Joe Biden coming off the bench. That's a better supporting cast than Obama gets with the LakeShow.

Fantasy Lingerie Football League

2009-05-21T13:51:00.000-07:00

So as it turns out, the Lingerie Football League (LFL) has Fantasy Football. Isn't that a bit redundant? I mean, isn't the LFL technically based on fantasy already? If I play LFL Fantasy Football, do I get to have sex with my team? Do characters in The Sims buy computers and play The Sims? So many questions...

Question to Bill Simmons

2009-05-14T12:48:00.001-07:00

Who would win in a fight? The starting five of the Celtics or the starting lineup of the Bruins?

ESPN currently lists the Celts as: Rajon Rondo, Ray Allen, Paul Pierce, Glen "Giant Baby" Davis, and Kendrick Perkins. If put into a machine that combined them, that's a 1180 pound, 32'8" monster.

OR

The Boston Bruins starting 6 (3 forwards, 2 D, and a goalie): Milan Lucic, Marc Savard, Phil Kessel, Zdeno Chara, Aaron Ward, and Tim Thomas. Added up that's a 1275 pound, 37-foot tall (37'2" in skates) behemoth.

Let's assume the fight is on dry land to make it fair (although it'd be comical to watch this go down in a rink on skates). Also, to even up the numbers (6 on 5 ain't really fair, even with the total weight close to the same), the Celtics also get Doc Rivers. No sporting equipment used as weapons; this isn't the climax to The Warriors, afterall. Oh yeah, and it's to the death. Sorry Boston sports fans.

"ooops, wrong window" of the Day

2009-05-04T13:58:00.000-07:00

Daley Tocher: God, Sugi's really riding my ass today
Daley Tocher: ooops, wrong window
sugi lee: LOL

A Song From The Year 2050

2009-04-06T17:23:00.001-07:00

Daley Tocher: Okay, you ever have radio on, and it plays a song
Daley Tocher: That is like the most nutzo song you've ever heard?
Daley Tocher: And you're listening to it, but not really paying attention, and then you're like
Daley Tocher: "Jesus, this song is making me crazy."
Ailene Sankur: yes
Ailene Sankur: what song is it?
Daley Tocher: Late of the Pier - The Bears are Coming (Metronomy Remix)
Daley Tocher: It's like 1/2 Devo, 1/2 Prince, but they are performing in Ibiza at a club
Ailene Sankur: am-az-ing
Daley Tocher: I'm listening to it on repeat
Daley Tocher: This song is INSANO
Ailene Sankur: i like
Daley Tocher: How far into it are you?
Daley Tocher: Lyrics yet?
Ailene Sankur: no
Daley Tocher: Princelike.
Ailene Sankur: but i'm dancing in my seat
Daley Tocher: Just wait. It's like the beat in the middle is made with whoopy cushions
Daley Tocher: And Prince has dosed me with LSD
Daley Tocher: And he's laughing at my face.
Ailene Sankur: oh yeah
Ailene Sankur: i hear what you're talking about
Daley Tocher: From the Ibiza stage, of course. And Devo is behind him, playing all the whoopy cushions.
Daley Tocher: I am 100% sure this is what all music sounds like in the year 2050

"ooops, wrong window" of the Day

2009-03-26T16:05:00.001-07:00

Ailene Sankur: ah i hate you
Ailene Sankur: you're smarmy
Ailene Sankur: and smug
Daley Tocher: And right?
Ailene Sankur: NO
Ailene Sankur: not right
Daley Tocher: And a quiz genius?
Daley Tocher: Sometimes I pick up prostitutes, bring them back to my apartment and strangle them to death.
Daley Tocher: ooops, wrong window

"ooops, wrong window" of the Day

2009-03-24T09:44:00.000-07:00

Ailene Sankur: roomie made dinner
Ailene Sankur: sooo good
Daley Tocher: The hooker I picked up last night was a lot less she- and a lot more -male. Ugh.
Daley Tocher: ooops, wrong window
Ailene Sankur: hahhaha

"ooops, wrong window" of the Day

2009-03-23T17:08:00.001-07:00

Ailene Sankur: i always get coffee for others
Daley Tocher: You ever think that Dakota Fanning looks old and haggard, and just wish there was a younger version of her, and then BOOM, Elle Fanning to the rescue?
Daley Tocher: ooops, wrong window

North Korean BBall

2009-03-13T15:22:00.000-07:00

I read that in North Korean basketball:

A dunk is worth 3-points!
A swished 3-pointer is worth 4-points!
Any basket made in the final 3 seconds is worth 8-points!

Too bad they probably dunk at the same rate as the WNBA.

...a quote came to me in a dream...

2009-03-06T09:16:00.000-08:00

"Sometimes the universe is trying to inform you of an innovation through an inconvenience."

-daley tocher

Who has done better with the ladies: Derek Jeter or Gavin Newsom?

2009-03-05T17:46:00.001-08:00

Who has dated better?
Gavin Newsom, Mayor of San Francisco, playboy, and Christian Bale look-a-like
or
Derek Jeter, perennial All-Star shortstop for the New York Yankees

Alright, so there has to be a slight handicap for this to be fair...

1) Jeter has way more money. This has to be taken into consideration.
2) Jeter is a bigger celebrity in a bigger city with a higher population or heterosexual women.
3) Jeter has spent more time in the spotlight. Newsom hasn't been a major league mayor for as long as Jeter has been a major league shortstop.
4) Lastly, because of public image, they aren't playing with the same rules. Garvin Newsom is a politician, and thus can't date people like Vida Geurera (who I'm not sure if she's a porn star or just a Maximal). Jeter, on the other hand, can and did date people like Vida Guerera because he is a Yankee and they can do anything they want to even steroids.

Anne Leibovitz Photos

2009-03-03T16:16:00.000-08:00

Anne Leibovitz is apparently under a lot of fire lately from hypersensative feminists about her recent photos...

http://jezebel.com/5163547/other-ladies-agree-annie-leibovitzs-latest-is-painfully-lame

I commented this...

I am a 24 year old man, so keep that in mind as I make this comment...

1) In response to the Melissa McEwan quote: I think if the men that were "naked" were people we have come to love because of their attractiveness (and not their humor), the photo would be serious and not 'ho ho ho'. It's only 'ho ho ho' funny because unattractive things (Apatow boys) have been put in a position to be viewed as attractive things, which they are not. I could not agree with the Rebecca Traister quote anymore, however.

2) I am a sports writer. For a living. In regards to the LeBron James VOGUE photo, I have a major problem with arguments against... I think it is okay for a man whose profession is to be a powerful, aggressive, dominant physical force to be depicted that way; regardless of race. The messed up thing is that since he's black, people make the monkey association. If it was LeBron's white teammate Wally Szerbiak in the exact same pose, no one would bat an eye. The problem is in how people view and associate the picture, not the actual picture.

Think before complaining.

E-Mail to Bill Simmons/My Own Personal Low

2009-02-08T14:59:00.001-08:00

I sent this out to my favorite sports writer, Bill Simmons. He always writes about the movies he comes across while channel surfing, and it was a little bit about sports, so I sent it to him.

************************************************************************************
Dearest Bill,

I need your help to determine if I've hit my own personal low. Keep reading, I promise it is really low.

My name is Daley and I'm 24 years old and living in San Francisco. I am blessed to work as a sports trivia/psychic-prediction writer for a pretty cool start-up company (eplay.com) not too far from my house.

So I get off work and ride my bike home (bicycles are common in SF; I'm not a virgin). I'm really sweaty by the time I get home, so I take my shirt off. I'm a pretty out of shape 6'1", 200 pounds with some tattoos sprinkled here and there. I start cooking a hot dog, open a beer, and put on the TV. The only game on is the Nuggets killing the Wizards (and the Nugs are up by like 30+ in the 3rd), so I do some flipping. I come across the last 20 minutes of October Sky, starring a very young Jake Gyllenhaal. I play hockey, and just got new skates. You've got to wear skates for a few hours to break them in, so I figure now is as good a time as any and lace 'em up.

October Sky's last 15 minutes is the murderers row of emotion! I tune in, and before I finish my beer, Jake wins the state science fair, gets offers to go to college and escape his mining town, meets some scientist hero of his, returns home to rural Virginia a hero, visits some pretty blond lady who is clearly on her death bed, reconciles with his hardass-coal-mining father, and gets with his high school crush. I know it must sound silly, but I start to weep.

So it dawns on me: my biggest nightmare is that someone would have walked in on me. Shirt off, gut out, ice hockey skates on indoors, beer and hot dog in hand, tears rolling down my face like I just got dumped by Jessica Alba.

My question: is this my personal low, or are things gonna get worse before they get better?

Thanks,

~daley
************************************************************************************

Why I Will Vote for Obama...

2008-11-03T16:40:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is Election Day.

I was gonna vote for Senator John McCain... then I read this.

I'll be voting for Senator Barack Obama now, simply because if he doesn't win, think what a rough week it would be for him. Wow. Not fair. Can't a guy get a break?

An Olympic First

2008-08-12T18:21:00.001-07:00

I've learned a lot about Michael Phelps in the last few weeks. More than I'd care too, actually. Let me summarize it all: Michael Phelps swims real good. Everyone is all on his johnson for being a Gold medal hopeful in 8 events. What, like one medal isn't good enough? His trip to Beijing seems more about greed than the true spirit of Olympic competition. You know, the dreaming of winning gold in a SINGLE event?

Enter Natalie du Toit. Name sound familiar? It should. She's a swimmer who made the South African national team. She's got her sights set a little lower than Michael Phelps. In fact, despite being a five-time gold medalist, she was stoked when she even made the Olympics. Why you ask? She won her gold medals at the Paralympics (not to be confused with the Special Olympics, which my roommate and best-friend Evan is a perennial bronze medal hopeful).

That's right, THIS WOMAN MADE IT TO THE OLYMPICS WITH ONLY ONE LEG. She doesn't use a prosthetic to swim, either. That would be unfair to whole-bodied athletes as the shiesty uni-ped would probably attach a flipper to her thigh. So I read about this woman, and I'm thinking, "How on earth does she have a chance?" The article I read had no pictures, so I Google imaged her.

WOWWIE! Who shaved a one-legged gorilla and taught it to swim?

Here is Ms. du Toit next to a regular, non-ogre Olympic swimmer. I bet the first difference you noticed was NOT Natalie's missing leg.

This last pic is of Shrek/Natalie about to crush/eat some rocks/concrete with her bear/bare paws/hands.

But, at the end of the day, is swimming really even a sport? No, no it's not.

Up in Heaven

2008-08-12T16:41:00.001-07:00

I can see Paul or Peter or whoever the hell sits up at the pearly gates, "Welcome, Mr. Mac. We here in Heaven enjoyed some of your early work.""

The next day, "No shit. Isaac Hayes? Isaac FUCKING Hayes. I can't fucking believe it! Welcome. Welcome to heaven. Jesus. Jesus Christ! Hey, Jesus, you'll never fucking believe who's here. Isaac HAYES!"

This is of course a tale of fiction, because we all know Scientologists like Isaac Hayes don't go to Heaven, they go to the space-prison's created by the the intergalactic Emperor Lord Xenu or some other such fairytale.

Isaac Hayes is dead now too

2008-08-10T23:05:00.000-07:00

So, Brett Helms called me on my way to work this afternoon (literally minutes after my Bernie Mac note) and informed me that Isaac Hayes was dead now too. I don't believe him and promptly go to IsaacHayes.com. There's nothing there about his death...

There is, however, a button that says "BE THE FIRST TO KNOW! CLICK HERE!". Apparently Brett clicked that button.

All this said, a question still remains, begging to be asked:

Who will be the next over-the-hill, slightly overweight, African-American entertainer to bite the bullet? I hope it's Uncle Phill from Fresh Prince. He is an asshole.

Bernie Mac IS NOT DEAD

2008-08-10T13:16:00.000-07:00

I repeat, Bernie Mac is not dead. He is perfectly alive and well. Read on.

So yesterday morning I get a call around 9:30am from my friend (and I use the term loosely) Brett Helms. I say, "What up, dude!?" as I was actually excited to talk to this long-lost friend. Well, Brett replies in a way that rather shocks me.

"Not so good, man." For a split second, I actually feel compassion towards him. I'm wondering what's going wrong... has he been fired, dumped, or worse yet, did he find out about my sexual relations with...? No. "Have you heard," Brett asks, "Bernie Mac died."

Brett loves being the first person to find out when a celebrity dies. Scratch that. What Brett loves is being the first person to tell as many people as he can that he knows a celebrity has died. He will call you at 5:30am if that's when he finds out about it. Further, he's all the more happy if said celebrity is someone you don't care about in the slightest.

Well, Brett says he was just gonna drink all day in Bernie Mac's honor. Oh yeah, and he was going to watch "Mo Money", Mr. Mac's first fill appearance. When Brett called me, I was ironically listening to Kanye West's album "Late Registration", which Bernie introduces and does several skits on. "Late Registration" was released in 2005, when apparently, people still gave a shit about Bernard Jeffrey McCoullogh a.k.a. Bernie Mac.

Well, the meat and potatoes of this blog entry are about to hit you like an Irish husband.

BERNIE MAC IS NOT DEAD.

It was all an internet rumor. Spread into the physical world by celebrity gossipists like my good friends Brett Helms. Accepted as truth by news reports on an otherwise slow day. I did my research. Toiled through web information. Found a statement on Mr. Mac's publicist's website saying it was all a hoax. Bernie Mac will have a press conference any minute now supporting this. You heard it here first, people.

BERNIE MAC LIVES.

The Naming of Things

2008-07-18T12:44:00.000-07:00

My birth name is William Tocher VII. The Seventh. It's like I'm royalty. My mom hated the names William, Bill, Willy, and so forth. The only abbreviation of William she liked was Liam, but my dad thought that was sissy. So, my mom said that dad could name me whatever he wanted, but that she was just going to call me something else.

She was pregnant with me during the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. I was born on September 1st, so you gotta figure she was VERY pregnant with me during the games. There was a track and field star from England (of Nigerian decent; a brother) that won the gold medal in the Decathlon. His name was Adodele Thompson, but he went by 'Dele' for short (quickly changed to Daley, the common English/Irish surname). Daley Thompson. My mom thought he was cute, so she decided to call me Daley. Daley Thompson had a giant moustache.

When I was born, my dad filled out the birth certificate. My mom was too busy giving birth. He filled it out as William Tocher VII. A few weeks later, when my mom was filling out my Social Security papers, she filled them out as Daley Tocher. I can only surmise that they were in a fight at the time. I worked out the legal discrepancy some years later, and subsequently have two Social Security cards.

Before I was born, when my parents were arguing about what to call me, my dad said he wanted to name me after the first San Francisco 49er to score a touchdown of the 1984-85 season. He has told me in retrospect that he's glad he didn't, because my name would have been Ronaldo Nehemiah Tocher. As it turns out, I was named after a different black athlete, but "Daley" fits me a bit better than "Ronaldo Nehemiah".

Apparently Tocher isn't a very desirable surname. I've asked my girlfriend Katherine Elizabeth "Kate" Rascoe if she would take on my last name if we got married. "Kate Rascoe sounds so much better than Kate Tocher, plus, I'm trying to have a recognizable name for my career, and changing it would make me kinda have to start anew in making a name for myself," she said. However, she has told me that were we to get married, she would love to take my "VII" from the end of my name. Kate 7.

People always asked me if I was planning on naming my first son William Tocher VIII. I always said, "I dunno. I'll figure it out when I knock someone up." Well, last year I had that decision made for me. I was prepping for my summer as a wandering tramp in Europe. I had very little money, and tried to trade some of my material possessions to friends for stuff I actually needed. I was all set to go. The only thing I still needed was a lightweight jacket. My friend Brett had the PERFECT jacket. But he didn't want anything I had for trade. I had no money to offer. We were at a standoff. That is, until I offered to name my firstborn (boy or girl) Brett Tocher in exchange for the jacket. We shook on it. Side note: Brett's nickname is Brett Boy. He dated a girl named Brett. Her nickname? Brett Girl. That sort of gave me the comfort to call my firstborn Brett regardless of gender.

If I have more than one kid, I want to name all the other bastard children after cities. Think Paris Hilton, or the rather common name Austin, or how celebrity parents name their kids after the cities they were conceived in (which is the naming version of getting a funny tattoo while drunk; that shit lasts forever). Any suggestions for good cities to name your kids after? I would name my boys Dallas, Tucson, Tulsa, Lexington, Durham, and that's just American cities.

craigslist missed connection

2008-05-19T23:45:00.000-07:00

So before I had the balls to ask Kate out, I posted a missed connection about her on craigslist. I was cleaning out old e-mails just now, and saw the confirmation e-mail for the ad I posted about Kate.

This posting has expired from craigslist.

Back to Craigslist | Return to my account page

Whole Foods - you look like the most fun girl - m4w

The best way to describe your appearance is:
you look like the most fun girl on planet Earth.

I've seen you at Whole Foods a couple times.
One time you complimented my watch, and you
made a good call that day, because the watch
in question is pretty fly.

I've seen you in passing a couple times since
then and have been reduced to a shy little
boy making (probably goofy) stares at you.
That'll change.

SHARKS no longer

2008-05-19T22:25:00.000-07:00

So, my boys are out.

The San Jose Sharks. They're done. The got finished a couple weeks ago. Mega-bummer.
Coach Wilson got fired. Whatever. Shit happens. We're still the greatest. Maybe that's why I've disappeared from writing. Maybe it's just because I'm a waste of space.

That said, I haven't gotten black out drunk since they were eliminated. But I did get a new tattoo. So did Evan (his first). We got them at a place called Jerry's Tattoos. It's attached to a nice coffee bar called Jerry's Coffee. In the 3-4 hours we were there, Ev Bones and I were the only white people in the tattoo parlor. The gentleman who did mine was named Raul. He had a tattoo on the palm of his right hand. It was completely blacked out, except had the SF giants logo in negative space. I don't think he's ever planning on moving.

Well, Bones got a dime on his bicep. It's a Mercury dime. Google it. The shit is pretty dope looking.

I got a fat quote on my back. 106 characters long.

The lovely Katherine Elizabeth Rascoe also got her first tattoo, but she got it from a shop not run by Mexican bikers. When she was born, she was super pre-mature. 3 pounds, 8 ounces. For her first year of life, her parents dressed her in Cabbage Patch Kids cloths because they didn't make regular baby threads small enough for her. So, she got the Cabbage Patch Kids insignia on her left butt-cheek, exactly where they are on the dolls. It's so pretty, I want to eat it. Mmmmmmmmmmmm!

HARKS no longer

2008-04-28T21:17:00.000-07:00

So if you've ever tossed back a drink with me (and if you've hung out with me, you've probably tossed back a drink with me), you've probably seen my lower lip tattoo. It says SHARKS, but the first S faded completely. So it said HARKS. People would see it, and ask, "What the fuck is HARKS?" I'd usually reply to stupid people, "A line from my favorite Christmas song: Harks, the herald angel sings, glory to the newborn king!"

Well, I got the tattoo when I went to Santa Barbara for my birthday last September. I was shitcanned at a bar with Brett and the funboys. And they were like, we wanna get tattoos (at a parlor called Precious Slut, no less, that takes even the drunkest tattoo candidates). We had no idea what we were gonna get, so we decided to all get our favorite sports teams on our lips. Chad got DODGERS, Brett got YANKEES, I got SHARKS, and John, since he only likes surfing, got SHAKA. As in, "Shaka, bra." Seriously. Fast forwards 6 months, and DODGERS turned to DOOGLES. YANKEES turned to YAVKLES. SHARKS turned to HARKS. And no one knows what SHAKA says cuz we haven't seen John.

This is why when I refer to my San Jose Sharks, I type it out: sHARKS.

Well, no longer. I got mine touched up this last weekend when I was in Santa Barbara. SHARKS, baby (ignore the fact that they lost games 1 and 2 against Dallas, I sure have). Well, I go under the (needle) gun and I get what I think was a genius idea. After the tattoo guy touched up the bottom lip, I ask how much he would charge to draw a silly moustache on the upper lip. He laughed, said he'd never done an upper, and said free. Fast forward 5 minutes, and I'm literally crying. The bottom lip was easy. The top was the most terrible pain I've ever felt. It felt like he was tattooing inside my teeth. The moustache looks shitty, and I'm never getting it touched up.

taxes

2008-04-18T14:40:00.000-07:00

Tax return, baby. They say they'll mail out my check May 5th. Watch out, guys, cuz that's the day I become a thousandaire.

To quote my buddy Kenny Mattice: "So many people are gonna get money back. This summer is gonna be sweet."

GO sHARKS!`

2008-04-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

So the Sharks are winning. The series is 3-2 against Calgary. If you know me, you know this is important. But it also means I've been hitting the bottle a bit too hard. Like millions, ney, hundreds of other Americans, NHL playoffs are a sensitive time in my life every year. I've got to celebrate Shark victories, but also, I've got to commiserate with my boys when they suffer defeat. Usually not a big problem, cuz the Sharks don't lose much... and I'm pretty good with being hungover at work (side note: one of the Mexican janitors calls me "Senor Resaco", or Mr. Hangover for the amount of naps I take on the couch in the break room. He usually taps me with his mop and wakes me up as he says this).

Well, I've met a girl. Like, a really good one. Her name is K8. She pritty. Listen to the Derek and the Dominos (Eric Clapton) song "Layla". The first half is over-rated, but the outro is awesome. I want that song to be playing while I drive off into the sunset with Kate. And I want to look into her eyes and say, "Babe, it don't matter none that you make minimum wage and I'm unemployed. I got a feeling everything's gonna be allllllllll, right." Except she's got a pretty good job as a graphic designer (she makes mostly wine labels). Breadwinnner. The "Layla" thing is just to demonstrate how much I like her.

Well, the Sharks are getting between me and happiness. Or rather my love for the Sharks. Or rather my love for drinking when the Sharks succeed (and we all know they aren't about to stop succeeding). I've shown up at the lady's house black-out drunk after Sharks games on two occasions now. And I think it needs to stop. To put it in perspective, I don't think Evan and I are welcome back at the sports bar we went to last night. There were some Calgary fans in the place, and I asked them really loud across the bar what barnyard animal was their favorite to have sex with, compared to which kind they prefer to date, and why. And I'm not pointing fingers, but there was vomit in the urinal by the time we left.

In other news, I'd like to mention a few things I've found in the last week:

1) empty cocaine bag: it fells out of a costumer's bag at work

2) live .50 caliber hollow-point round: Kate found it outside my work and gave it to me as a gift (she knows how much I like shiny gold things), not knowing how ruthlessly dangerous an item it was

the NOTE game

2008-03-19T20:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, forgive me. I seem to have JUST remembered how this is supposed to work. The whole writing thing. All the stuff I've written before: ignore. I'm only supposed to write when I have a really good story. The more good stories I live, the more I write, the more i go and make good stories. Snow-baller.

It all starts with a guy named Ted. Friend, kinda. He writes notes to girls saying how beautiful they are, then posts missed connections. Trolling for poon. He told me that story. I told Evan.

A few days later Evan and I are on BART going to pick up a package from the main USPS place in SF. Evan is digging through his bag and finds these two little super fancy red/gold envelopes that someone gave him around Chinese New Year time (which, for the record, is not January 1st. God damned dirt worshiping celestials). So he says, "Hey, let's, you know, write terrible things in these gorgeous notes and leave them on BART or somewhere in public where they will get found." I agree to the plot, and scribble down:

YOUR FLY IS OPEN, LOSERFACE.

Evan shows me what he wrote: I HAD SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH YOUR MOTHER. REALLY. I AM SO SORRY.

So, not to be one upped, I crunched mine up and decided to rewrite it, but the only paper we had was torn from a cigarette pack (this becomes important in the next point). I write: I THINK U REEEEALLY PRITTY.

So we each have these, and we say, hey, why not shuffle them up so we don't know which is which, and hand them to a pair of hotties we see on the way to the post office. Excellent idea! So we shuffle, and draw, but the bummer is that I can feel that I got the one saying the awful thing Evan wrote because the paper in my envelope is soft. But that's fate for ya.

We walk for probably 15 minutes before seeing a pair of girls smoking cigarettes, dressed for business and presumably on their lunch breaks, and before I can do anything about it, Evan approaches them and hands the attractive one an envelope which expresses something about her beauty, and I give the significantly less attractive one a note detailing me violating her mama. A note Evan wrote. And we asked them to open them later, and walked speedily away.

We've decided to make this note giving ceremony a weekly activity, but we've agreed not to tell each other what we've written for the week. It should be fun.

p.s. on the BART ride home, I couldn't help but picture what those girls said after opening the notes. "Awww, that cute guy with the moustache (Evan) thinks I'm pretty, but can't spell very well. How sweet. What's your note say, Janet?"

New House

2008-03-06T13:20:00.000-08:00

Well, we found a place. And moved into it. And have started to decorate it. It's pretty cool. The neighborhood it's in, is not.

Last Friday, the 29th of February (a rare date indeed), we moved out of our Mission apt. Randale Watson and his brother Jason helped us. Then Evan went to work and I helped Jason move out of his place in San Mateo and into our old room. It was a long day.

That night, Ian Bestor came to town, and we drank. He had a sleezy ass moustache. We parted ways at closing time. He took a cab back to Kent and Malibu's house. Bones and I walked home.

We got about two blocks before we run into CJ Werzeeberzee and Fidel Lambie.
Fidel was my best friend in kindergarten. He skipped like 3 grades and we barely knew each other by high school. He went to UCSB, and still we rarely saw each other. Now apparently he lives in SF, and I run into him on his honest to God birthday of all days. So we go smoke Cuban cigars and drink scotch at his friend's house. Out 'til like 4am.

The next night I go out with Ian the Beast again and hit on his sister. Uneventful.

In a round about way that brings us to today. And by round about way I mean the sort of way that skips over a bunch of unimportant stuff (weekdays). Tonight Evan has a (sex) date with his dream girl (who he met at a bar). If he fails and comes home tonight, I count it as a win for me (since he will be sad). If he succeeds, I also consider it a win for me because I'll have all night to fart on his pillow.

Toodles for now!

Homelessness

2008-02-19T10:33:00.000-08:00

On March the 1st, Evan and I officially become homeless. The goal is to avoid that fate. So we're apartment hunting in the few neighborhoods in SF that always have vacancies. Why do they have vacancies? Perhaps it takes a certain type to call these places home, or perhaps a certain type to not die in these environments.

Here's what Wikipedia says about the neighborhood I checks apts out in yesterday:

"The extension of the Tenderloin south of Market Street in the vicinity of Sixth, Seventh, and Mission Streets is known locally as Mid-Market and is "Skid Row" or sarcastically as "the Wine Country," an allusion to "winos" (street- dwelling alcoholics)."

The Beginning

2008-02-19T02:29:00.000-08:00

So this is the beginning. Being that, I'd really like to point at that while I'd love to think I will be writing about the music I'm listening to, the books I'm reading, and the cool threads and kicks I stumble across, in all reality it will probably just be a record of the stupid ways I get drunk and awkward documentation of my successes and failures.

When I traveled Europe and wrote steady updates on facebook notes, I said that I was writing for me and not you. And I was. But then I ended up tagging people to the notes and people asked to be tagged to them and I became very aware of a readership so to a point I started writing for the readership. With this, I'm not even gonna tell people it exists for now. I am writing this mostly for the purpose that I need to write.