I like granola. Clumps of oats, almonds, brown sugar and sunflower seeds in milk make for a good morning. I keep my granola in a tin cylinder.
I hate hearing people’s drug stories. They are almost always pointless; and if there is a point to the story, it’s that they got really fucked up once. That’s not a good story no matter how cool you think talking to a clump of hair on the carpet for hours is. Chainsaw art, now that is cool.
I like making mix Cds. I like trying to figure out what song will blend into the next. If you ask me nicely, I’ll make you a mix Cd that you might like. You should do the same for me.
I hate going to big concerts. I recently went to Wilco and was less impressed with the band than I was depressed by the people surrounding me. I ending up leaving early with Tripp and catching the equally, if not more so, talented band Sexfist. I recommend that you see Sexfist as a first date, without telling your date what Sexfist is.
I like publicly making a fool of myself in Target. I recently got into a throw-pillow fight with a cute girl in the bedding isle. I bought a large Tupperware container for audio cables. She bought a trashcan. People were amused by our antics. So was I.
I hate parking tickets. I have somehow become a prime target for the bright orange envelope ammo of the meter-people’s wrath, I swear they have it out for me and my zippy black Scion. Since Jan 1st, 2008, I’ve been ticketed seven times for everything from with 20 feet of a crosswalk to obstruction of traffic. If I hadn’t contested these tickets, I would currently owe the city around $500. I’ve gotten out of four of them so far, but I’ve also been pulled over for speeding. I wonder what would happen if I was as good at quantum mechanics as I am at getting parking tickets.
I like having a hard drive on my keychain. It’s not a big one, just a 512mb flash drive keychain, but it makes my pocket feel like it is from the future.
I hate Telemarketers.
I love bourbon. I always will. Cheers.