Neighbors and Daniel Johnston. I'm neighbors with Daniel Johnston.

So like, I said before, I moved. I'm somewhere around lower Haight and Western Addition. It's sort of incredible to be out of the Tenderloin. I mean, I'll be walking, and I'll almost step into some dogshit. And I'll think, "Fuck, I almost walked into dogshit." In the Tenderloin, I was never quite sure, from where or who the shit came from. It was almost always, I assumed, personshit. Because for every dog that I saw walking around the Tenderloin, I'd see about 2.8 batshit crazy persons pooping on the sidewalk. But I think that the weirdest part is that it never seemed out of the ordinary, I never felt weird about some batshit crazy person doing their business on the sidewalk. "That's just city living."

How did I become so desensitized?


But now, living here in my new neighborhood, I realize that it is not ok for humans to be pooping on the sidewalk. And it's not ok for me to think that it's ok, that it's "just city living". It's really gross and it should be thought of as gross. Or at least off-putting. OK, it was always off-putting. But it was accepted for some strange reason.


I'm sorry if this is gross. I understand if you don't want to read anymore.


But the point that I was trying to get across is this:
I feel very lucky and fortunate to sometimes almost step in dogshit.


Another thing about living around here. I used to work in this neighborhood as a bartender. So I know quite a few people around. And every time I leave the house, I usually run into someone I know. Sometimes I don't like that at all. Sometimes I do, and I feel popular and that people generally like me and are happy to see me.I sometimes wonder if people are trying to get my attention, cause they think that I can hook them up with free beers. I can not. But don't tell anyone.


I'm going to see Daniel Johnston on Thursday. I was trying to think of the first time that I became aware of Daniel Johnston. It wasn't that movie, The Devil and Daniel Johnston, which I haven't seen. And yes, I already know what you're going to say. So feel free to copy & paste this in the comment box:


"Oh you got to see that movie. You would love it. I can't believe that you haven't seen it. It's so good. You're so incredibly good looking, Steve. Rent that movie. I can't believe such a wonderful and beautiful man like yourself hasn't seen that movie. Do yourself a favor and watch it. It'll blow your mind. You're so amazing, Steve. I love you and everything you do is art."


So, I'm trying to do my best to remember Daniel Johnston, and when I first heard him. Granted, it's fairly new to my life. While I was being so cool, I forgot to be so hip. I think it might have been from a mixtape that someone made me. But then I started thinking, "Who would have made me that mixtape?" And I couldn't think of a soul. Or maybe it was cause I saw this Daniel Johnston tribute record that had Tom Waits, Beck, TV On The Radio on it. And though, "Well, there must be something to this guy." Then I just downloaded a few of his records. I don't remember. It doesn't really matter, although a good story to tell about it is what I prefer. But I guess that I don't have one. I'll think about it and leave with a cliffhanger.

COMIN' RIGHT BACK (like a heart attack)

Hey y'all. It's been a while since there's been anything up on this blog. Shit got weird. Or actually shit stopped being weird. I dunno. Something happened. But I think that I just wasn't feeling like blogging for a bit and now I do. 

Let's get started. I stopped blogging in June. I was in the process of moving and I no longer had any connection to the internet. I was also in a bad mood about 90% of the time and didn't want to blog about how I hated everything. And also I didn't see the point of telling my friends a bunch of bullshit. Like:

I got married. 

I am addicted to crystal meth.

I stopped wearing deodorant. 

I have fleas.

Lies. All lies. Sorry.

Ok, so at one point in my life I had fleas. Brandon Brown and I had an apartment at Clayton and Hayes. And if you've ever spent extended amounts of time with Brandon and/or I around 2001-2003, then you probably lived there. At some point in life, somehow, it was just Brandon and I living there. So Brandon immediately bailed to spend the summer in Chicago. He set me up with a subletting hippie from Santa Cruz, Amanda. Amanda immediately had her cokehead friend move in as well. I had recently bought a mattress off of craigslist and was no longer sleeping in a cot. Yes, I slept in a cot for about 6 months. I told people that I had tuberculous. One night, I, somehow, convinced a girl to sleep with me. And in the five minutes of passionate love making, we broke the cot. So then I slept on the floor. Then I got the bed. Then Brandon left. Then Amanda and her cokeheaded home girl moved in. Then we got fleas. I assumed, probably because of a guilt complex that I have, it was because of the matress. So I put it out on the street, with a note: 

"Probably flea infested"

It was gone within half an hour. What's up San Francisco?

Then I told the girls to leave town for the weekend. They did. They probably went to some breathing exercise clinic up around Sasha Mountain or met some sailors and got coked up on some elderly man's house boat. I dunno. So I bombed the house and stayed at my then girlfriend's house. 

I still remember not being able to sleep that night. Totally anxious that I either:

A.) poisoned all of my neighbors to death, 

or 

B.) burned down the apartment building. 

I didn't do either. And the bomb worked. And we no longer had fleas.

Then Amanda and her coke head homie left. Brandon came back and we had the place to ourselves. Brandon started taking inventory of his room, that Amanda and her coke head homie had been in, and Brandon found millions upon millions of dead fleas upon his bookshelf. The same place where Amanda and her coke head homie had all their plants. So I figure that it was from there plants that the fleas came from. So it maybe wasn't my shady mattress after all. 

So then Brandon and I then bought a French press and had the best cup of coffee of our lives. Then we bought a bar. A personal bar for our living room. Then Matthew Arnone moved in, then John Griener moved in. And then Logan Ryan Smith was there. Then John Sakkis was there. It was good times. There was hecka pizza and Miller High Life. 

I don't know why I told that story. Hope you liked it.

So what's up with me now.

I am now the proud roommate of John Sakkis. We live in the lower Haight. We drink hecka Miller High Life. We eat hecka tuna salad. We listen to Boz Scaggs and just cool out.

I have a special lady friend. She's an absolute gem. A sensation. She's like the north star. She makes me all giggly.

Yeah, I said giggly. But fuck you. I ain't soft. I'll still cut you. I'm like DMX: I'm not a nice person.

I'm still rocking that art house movie bullshit. Just watched Woman In The Dunes. Fuck Yeah, y'all. I wanna write a review of that soon. In fact, I have plans to start up a website film journal sort of thing. I hope to do it before 2010. If any of you wanna write movie reviews, send'em my way and let's rock that shit. 

And lastly, I've been writing a book about time travel. I have had a few missteps, but it seems to have finally taken it's shape. It's also about stand up comedy, impoverished slave children of Haiti, larceny, kidnapping, cock fighting, Germans fleeing to South America, and easy ways to land a job in housekeeping. It'll be ready in couple of years.