Dear Internet,

Hey, so it's been a while.

I'm not going to say much about who I am.  I don't really want my friends and family to see this blog, not because it would get me in trouble or offend people necessarily, but, well, a lot of this will just be cathartic and/or very self indulgent (as if there is a blog that is truly NOT self-indulgent), and I kinda just don't want to be embarrassed or seem any more shallow than I am.  From time to time, in this blog, I may come across as douchebaggy.  I assure you that I really am not.

There are some things I will reveal about myself that you will probably be able to cross-reference and, by process of elimination, determine just who exactly I am.  If you are someone I know in meatspace, I would appreciate it if you do not continue reading.  However, if you must, please don't tell anyone else about this.  I would be glad if you told me that you have found it, just so I know, even though I will be embarrassed.

Oh, who am I kidding.  Hardly anyone is going to read this anyway, so I should just relax.

I'm Tom.  I'm in my early thirties.  I live on the peninsula in the SF Bay Area.  I'm in the design industry, but really, lately it has been more like the engineering and paperwork industry.

I'm just gonna start.  You're in the thick of the action, now.

So, yesterday I had lunch at The Bitter End, an Irish pub in the Clement shopping district of San Francisco.  The area is one of a few "satellite" Chinatowns in SF that's actually probably bigger than most other cities' main Chinatowns, but there seem to be a lot of Irish Pubs around, frequented by actual Irish people.  Ethnically Irish, anyway.  I had two Guinness and the Gaelic chicken.  Now, I don't know how authentic the food was, particularly since it appeared to have been cooked by a Hispanic woman, or if there really is such a thing as Gaelic chicken, but it was damn good, if just a little bit salty.  The only thing I really know about Irish food is that it includes cabbage, corned beef, potatoes, Guinness, Jameson's, and Bailey's.  Anyway, the Gaelic chicken had this garlic wine mushroom sauce, and it came with vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes.  Like I said, it was just damn good.  I think I might go on Yelp and give The Bitter End five stars- or I might just wait until I've eaten there a couple more times to make sure.

I like Irish girls.  I believe, come to think of it, that every girl I have ever had a crush on was of full or partial Irish decent.  Oftentimes, another part is French (I'm just guessing based on last names).  But almost always some Irish in there somewhere.  I currently have this gigantic, very distracting crush on a celebrity who is mostly of Irish descent and slightly younger than me.  I mean, it's as distracting, as, say, a major cramp in your calf that won't fully go away.  I'll let you guess who she is for now.  I'll probably write about her later.  My S.O. has told me about her celebrity crush, so I don't feel too bad about it.  Actually, since she shares a lot of the same physical characteristics with this celebrity I have a crush on, and I share absolutely none with the one she likes so much, perhaps my crush is more justifiable?  If that makes any sense?

So, for the last four weekends, I have had this routine:  I drive into San Francisco to the Clement shopping district, and I go to 6th Avenue Aquarium and Green Apple Books.  I buy a few super cheap books from the sale and/or clearance tables upstairs at Green Apple, and sometimes buy a couple betta splendens fish and/or some sticks of bamboo from 6th Avenue Aquarium (technically the place that sells bamboo in front is a separate business, but whatever).  On one of the first three weekends, I once stopped for a Guinness at The Bitter End, but this past weekend was the first time, I think ever, that I have eaten anything there.  After that, I head down Geary all the way past the Cliffhouse to Ocean Beach.  I park just south of the Cliffhouse and walk down the beach well past Beach Chalet.  I've decided that I need to see, and preferably touch, the ocean at least once a week, tsunami warning or not.

Tonight, Monday night, I ate at the burger place Citrine for maybe the eighth or ninth time.  I like that place, but a couple times I have ordered the Mediterranean burger and it tasted like it had been sitting around for a while.  I know it has the potential for being very good, however, because on a particularly sunny Saturday morning I ordered it, and it was absolutely superb.  My mood was likely affected by the fact that I was dining al fresco, it was very warm, and I was listening to something I particularly like on my iPod shuffle- The Smiths, I think.  But tonight I ordered the horseradish steak sandwich, and I think it's my new favorite.

You're probably thinking that I am a big disgusting meat eater, and you would be right.  I do, however, completely understand the validity of veganism, and I realize that to be a really responsible and considerate citizen of the 21st Century, I really should be a vegan, as well.  I don't know what's really stopping me.  Apathy?  Habit?  Addiction?  Something having to do with my ego/id anyway.

I don't believe I've ever truly been addicted to a substance.  I've maybe become dependent on aqueous caffeine solutions and fat, usually in the form of animal flesh and other animal-derived products.  But alcohol, nicotine, and a couple illicit substances I have tried have not led to anything even remotely close to an addiction.  I actually despise nicotine.  I've always hated the way it makes me feel.  Don't ask me why I was actually trying to force myself to become a smoker.  Obviously, it was for social reasons.  Anyway, there was a period of a few weeks during college when I thought I was smoking regularly enough to finally start getting used to it, but no.  It was still disgusting to me- both in terms of taste and physiological effect.

I do believe in the strength of my own willpower.  It shouldn't really take that much effort to become a vegan.  Right?

I'm a kind of half-assed liberal.  I eat amounts of meat and dairy products that are unhealthy for me as well as the planet.  I own a ridiculous amount of leather.  I believe most liberals in government don't understand how to manage money properly and efficiently, so why should they have the right to take so much of mine and do whatever they want with it?  I'm registered as Libertarian, but I think maybe I'm at odds with a lot of that party's philosophy.  For instance, if I have to choose between not being taxed and not having future generations properly (and truthfully!) educated, then I would rather have all my income taken from me and live in a cardboard box.  As far as I'm concerned, the only reason I exist is to contribute to the future progress and enlightenment of human civilization.

But I think it's wrong for hypocritical limo liberal bureaucrats to take my money and blow it out of their complacent, inefficient, lazy, enabling, special interest asses.  So sue me.  That being said, I would rather have my money completely wasted than used to kill millions of people I don't even know.


OK, I have to get this off my chest right now.  I may not fully understand what it means to be a Libertarian, but I do know this.  If you are registered as a Libertarian in the State of California, and you voted in favor of Prop 8, then you, sir or madam, are a bold-faced hypocrite.  I know for damn sure that a vote for inequality, particularly in a matter that does not concern you at all, is the opposite of Libertarianism.  You, sir or madam, are meddlesome and nosey, and that is no way for a Libertarian to be.  You're stifling the happiness of others due to your own pent-up, repressed, prudish issues.


I at first thought I might vote for Meg Whitman.  I've sort of admired her ever since I started bidding on ebay in the mid 90's.  I think she has a lot of good ideas.  I think she does have the potential to save California economically.  But why, oh why, Meg, do you have to be pro-Prop 8?  Deal breaker, right there.  Sorry.  Principles are principles.


So, the way I came to be a Libertarian is this.  Actually, I'll use an analogy, or metaphor, or whatever.  I like using those.  Let's say you're a straight male in high school.  In your circle of friends, there are two girls that are getting almost all of the attention.  One is the super-attractive cheerleader type, but unfortunately she's not too bright and she's kind of a selfish bitch.  The other one is very smart and sarcastically witty, but also charming and fun to hang out with.  She's not really that easy on the eyes, though, let's face it.  And she's always "borrowing" money from you and not returning it.  Outside of your circle of friends, there's a girl who appears to be both attractive and intelligent, and, from the few interactions that you've had with her, it would seem that you would get along great together.  You wonder why more people don't pay attention to her and even avoid her- at first glance, there seems to be nothing wrong with her at all.  But there are rumors that she's kinda crazy, gets into trouble, sometimes embarrasses herself and those around her in public, and hangs out with the wrong crowd.  She also has this uncanny obsession with ferrets and weed.  You decide to date her anyway, and find out the hard way that not all the rumors were unfounded.  OK, maybe that wasn't the best analogy, but it's the best I can think of right now.