A big part of my plan for future happiness has to do with finding a new coffeeshop to frequent.
The radical mystic barista of my dreams would be located someplace utopian like, say, Santa Monica or somewhere even wilder perhaps like Silverlake. I admit this doesn’t narrow things down too well.
I have no idea what the profile looks like that you were seeking, but I am sure I didn’t fit it. I am the type of guy who will not call a lot, make mistakes on the suave scale, say the wrong things to your friends.
I will play American music and whine at regular intervals during most contemporary TV-series in a way that will appear charming until it doesn’t.
I’m told that when I’m idle my default face ranges from nonplussed to ‘impossible saffron’. Sometimes I think about how my default expression gets buried in the psychological laundry of everyday life, so that I am left wearing involuntary pink or orange or sometimes sheer madness.
Then I wonder if this should make me anxious about who I am. (Sad.)
Then I remember that time David Foster Wallace admitted (in a live interview) that he didn’t like to ‘interface’ all that much with other people. Sometimes I find I don’t like to ‘interface’ all that much with other people either.
Sometimes I curse David Foster Wallace under my breath, but then I relax because I know it probably isn’t his fault, which is maybe even more troubling.
I am afraid of telephones, but I own one anyway, which probably says something about me as a person.
My friends laugh because I named my condition ‘Acute Telephonophobia’. I don’t laugh when I say this because I am serious, I really don’t like telephones, and it’s often hard and painful when I have to train my friends not to call me very much, at all.
Then I remember I sometimes misdiagnose myself.
Then I remember that I keep bags of ellipses under my bed from the last time my heart spilled out over a disappointing Goddard film slash endless, soul-crushing depression slash grief.
Sometimes when a guy walks by me with his shirt tucked in, I’ll say something like, ‘sup Tuckleberry finn’? I don’t have very many friends.
I have a pet snail that I call ‘Osvaldo’. She just showed up one day when I was lying in my hammock and I wasn’t sure what to do with her.
My favorite part of most dates are pre-dating. One time I tried to pick up a girl at a bar using only the line, ‘are you down for whatever?’ I don’t try to pick up girls at bars anymore.
People tell me I am the Emily Dickinson of bar lingo because I sometimes speak exclusively in dashes and ellipses, about carriages and death lurking behind or orbiting the moisture-rings left by a glass a beer.
I would risk my life to save a drowning sentence, and little else. Said Gustave Flaubert. Who I usually agree with.
I don’t go to bars often. I’ve never had a one-night stand. People tell me I am the Emily Dickinson of sex acts.
Ask me what my battle is everyday, and I will probably say ‘honesty’; I guess it can be difficult to be objective about myself sometimes.
When I said I tried to ‘pick up a girl at a bar with the line are you down for whatever’? I was not being completely honest. In fact, the line was spoken accidentally into the wind or else in the general direction of someone who I mistook for a friend.
If there is anything I mildly disapprove of, grammatically speaking, it’s unnecesary abbreviation while ‘interfacing’. When I accidentally tried 2 pick up homegurl @ the bar i actually used the acronym ‘dfw’ rather than the more complicated and polysyllabic, ‘Down For Whatever’. I’m pretty sure that says something about me as a person.
I’m pretty sure she didn’t know what ‘dfw’ refers to. It was probably for the best that we ended things early.
Ever since that night my friends sometimes call me ‘dfw’. I like to pretend they are referring to David Foster Wallace and then I go home and weep into my pillow or else write an 800 page essay on my Tumblr that I set to ‘Private Drafts’.
What I’m doing with my life
Fighting sexyism everyday.
Sometimes sleeping in a hammock under the stars. Sometimes wearing a kimono to bed because it amuses the neighbors.
Kickstarting myself into going to the cinema once a month, and also into founding the first bilingual/english language Theater in Buenos Aires, Argentina in order to stage my own plays for an exclusively amateur audience.
Hoping to live on a sail-boat one day, maybe in Argentina, hoping to call it ‘sea section’ or ‘my paredros’ or ‘Osvaldo’.
I’m really good at
Taking myself too seriously.
Creative facial hair. And other poorly masked conformity.
Tuna salad sandwiches. Eating them pre-made and/or made to order.
The art of losing. Gracelessly.
The first things people usually notice about me
My default facial expression: Aplomb. Stark. Brooding. Mad. Impossible Saffron.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Where I went wrong. What I should be thinking about. Where other people went wrong.
What I should be reading/writing/watching.
Finding a new coffeeshop to frequent.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
This year for Halloween I am organizing a strike on behalf of nudist colonies everywhere.
(I am just going to wear whatever I have on.)
You should message me if
You don’t want to die.
You live in Santa Monica or Silverlake, and are laughing uneasily about it.
You are graciously unemployed.
You are emotionally unavailable and/or heartbroken a lot of the time.
You only sometimes know how to hide both of these things, at least in semi-professional settings.
You don’t spend much time in semi-professional settings because you don’t want to live an existence based on ‘days off.’
You feel fairly confident that when you die it’s poetry that leaves your body.
You don’t want to die with labored metaphors, alliteration, and other commonly used rhetorical devices jamming up your esophagus.
You don’t want to die with unlived bodies inside you.
You’re not afraid of dying because you have/want an imagination and know/want-to-know how to use it.
You don’t want to die.
*This bio was composed on an android. It took me something like an hour to finish. I edited it a handful of times throughout the day. Because I care. Pretty sure that says something about me as a person.
*published in the Summer edition of Gorilla Troop Press (themed ‘Fancy’)