Here.

Contradictory and egomaniacal junk from a world-class hipster.

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test test test

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And shanah tova!

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I wish more people were as interesting as they look. I was called out for referring to the modern hipster as a poseur. “They honestly have no idea,” my friend said, “it’s following fashion; they’re not posing as anything.” I moved around a lot as a kid; I knew to find kids who looked like me, because I knew they’d be outsiders, like similar music, have similar taste. I'm over identifying solely through image, as much as one socialized in the now can be, and I'd like to think I look how I look because of my own tastes and my image's history as a ska-punk-poseur, alternative, skater/stoner whatever. But old habits die hard, and image is gereally my first impression of a person, and every other person I see now has the look that makes me think they'd be worth knowing, and I find myself constantly let down. It really depresses me sometimes. However, my friends are still cool.

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Boom. Still one of my go-to albums.

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My mom, sis, and I.

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What was supposed to be a test-ride to work turned into a 23-mile bicycle ride around San Francisco. Over unfamiliar territory. In skinny jeans. And, to reiterate the severity, in San Francisco. Suffice to say, this will never happen again. I don't know if that means I have to start carrying lycra shorts on me, but it must mean something other than that I am a giant idiot, who is completely worn-out and will probably be in a lot of pain tomorrow. :)

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X being moody on Letterman.

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Between registering for graduate school this morning and starting my new job tomorrow I am absolutely terrified (and excited).

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One of my buddies, a super-amazing cook and chef, Millicent Souris, wrote a book! This is the photo I texted to her, so excuse the face. Go buy one. It's really good, and I'm not just saying that.

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It was a really nice day until now.

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I have better pictures of the Golden Gate, but none as creepy.

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No, I'm actually thirty-one today. Chicken and waffles at The Beachside.

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Literally a ten-minute drive from home.

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Happy birthday, Screamin' Jay!