what a beautiful sunset

what a beautiful sunset

(Source: fortscrotum, via robdelaney)


The Runaway Mouse, by Margaret Brown (Random House, 1961)


The Runaway Mouse, by Margaret Brown (Random House, 1961)


Tales of Unexpected Irony

"Abusive, insane Twitter rant aimed at all biches"

(Source: azzpuzzy, via stonergirl)



Today I was on adderall to help me study during finals week, and it definitely has a bizarre effect on me every time I take it. It makes me passionate and intense about my beliefs. I talked to my academic advisor, Lisa, right after I took it in the morning and somehow got into a discussion regarding intimacy and vulnerability. I had to leave when my appointment was over, but I sat down to write her a long email after instead of studying for finals. I want to preserve the email to know what I was like as a 21 year old. I don’t want to forget what I believed right now. All these ideas and metaphors are heavily influenced by the podcast You Made It Weird with Pete Holmes, WTF with Marc Maron, Patrice O’Neal, C.S. Lewis, Carl Jung and David Foster Wallace for the most part. Here’s what I wrote her in my peculiar state. It’s all unedited:
I feel so positive all the time. It’s a new feeling.

It’s just that I feel like I have to love wherever I’m at in life because I have no other choice but to love it. There’s this hole in my life from my past and I stopped trying to fill it with something. I’m never going to fill it. I need to know it, understand it, and just OWN it. But most of all, I want to express this hole to others through intimacy and honesty. Maybe a lot of people feel the way I do and if I’m honest they will be more accepting of themselves. They will feel less alone. I don’t want people to feel alone. My heart hurts to think about it.

As of the past 6 months, I’ve stopped trying to be “the greatest thing that’s ever happened to someone” especially in relationships. That’s selfish. It’s not about me. It’s about loving every inch of someone, and knowing that it’s their imperfections which make them perfect and special. Who cares what our loved ones think of us? Maybe I’m not the greatest thing to ever happen to them. It doesn’t matter. How dare I make any relationship about me. The way people perceive me is out of my control. When an artist creates I do not care what his intentions were because his painting could be interpreted a thousand different ways. So I’m just trying to paint something I think is beautiful. I’m giving up control in order to gain it.

I like being uncomfortable. If I’m comfortable then I’m just a slave to myself. The only real, true freedom seems to be doing what you don’t want to do. Which is being uncomfortable. But it gets to the point where that’s all you want to do. It gets easier. You seek change and all this other crap that people are trying to avoid. You embrace it because like I said earlier I don’t have a choice but to love wherever I am.
I believe the original definition of the latin word for lust is “to be starved/cut off from connection/intimacy” and now means something different. Many people are starved I feel like. They’re lustful. Why aren’t we talking about these things all the time? The idea of eternity in heaven/creating heaven on earth is the most important thing there is, so once again why aren’t we talking about these things all the time? I know it hurts to be vulnerable. It really does. But everything strong is forged in fire/pressure, sometimes over a long period of time.

I’m trying to live the metaphorical story of Christ in which I die to my old self and become new. I think that is the message of His story.

I used to act like I had a choice. I used to be practically atheist last semester. Crying spells. Depression. Binge eating. Feelings of complete worthlessness. Self hatred. The idea that no one would ever love me, that no one loved me. I was refusing to live this life, which is completely absurd. I was ignoring what was right in front of me.
I do not know who created this story but I think it was CS Lewis. The story of the man falling off a cliff, and as he is falling he looks over and sees this rope. He thinks to himself “I could grab this rope, but I don’t know. Is it secure up there? Will I get rope burn? What’s the material made out of?” But it’s like HEY DUMMY YOU’RE FALLING. What other option do you have? Reach out and grab it and if it breaks it breaks, but you were still falling anyway. I was DEEPLY INSULTING Christ by not wanting to give him my burdens. But guess what; he can take them. I had to stop being selfish and stubborn. I had to let go of my ego.
I don’t know if this the correct way to live which is to be in love with everything I do. I think this might just be a way to enjoy life. This is the way of the crow. All twelve jungian archetypes are important and necessary. The crow serves as a channel through which chaos flows. The vikings (hero archetype) MUST seek out chaos for without it they could not die in battle and go to Valhalla (basically Heaven in Norse mythology). Every role is equally important. No crow and then no one enjoys heaven. No hero and there’s only chaos. By the way, CS Lewis said he related the most to Loki the Trickster God. The crow isn’t all bad but is interpreted as evil a lot in American cinema and literature. If you saw the Avengers movie you know how they portrayed Loki the Trickster God. He’s not evil. In Norse mythology he challenged people with humor and the way he lived, and many resented him for that, but ultimately he made them better people. His intentions were good. All crows intentions are good. I’ve stopped trying to be someone who I think I’m supposed to be. I’ve stopped trying on different masks. I’m just trying to be me, be transparent, and not be a liar. If I pretend to be something I’m not then I’m found out, I’d be devastated. If you think about Tiger Woods, he walked around like he was a saint. He was perfect. Then we found out he had sex with a lot of women. He lost sponsorships, fans, money etc. Now look at Charlie Sheen. He walked around like a dirty rat. And so when he locked that prostitute in the hotel bathroom among various other things, HE GOT HIS OWN SHOW. He got sponsorship deals. He got on twitter and gained followers faster than anyone has in history. We rooted for him. My point is he walked around like a dirty rat and HE WAS A DIRTY RAT. Tiger flew around like he was this beautiful eagle but he really was just a rat in an eagle costume. Since I live this way I feel like I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

I don’t understand why people are attracted to me, and frequently I don’t even think anyone likes me since I have a low opinion of myself, and I’ve accepted that I will die feeling this way. I’m okay with it. No one likes the hot girl at the bar that knows she is hot anyway. That person is not pleasant.

Thanks for all you do, Lisa. I’m not a good student and for that I apologize. When everything seems so absurd it’s hard to take some things seriously. I understand the great cosmic joke that everything is funny just by virtue of it happening. It’s so crazy that we are even here, it’s incredible really. So I can’t help but laugh all the time. I enjoy helping someone forget how miserable and pointless they think their life is, even if it’s just for a brief, fleeting moment through laughter.
As David Foster Wallace once said, “The horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self that is inseparable from that horrific struggle. Our endless impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.”
Lisa, we are here. We’ve always been here. Now all we have to do is enjoy it and love it.

I don’t have life figured out. I’m 21. I don’t know anything. Which means I have a lot more learning, growing and changing to do and I will never stop doing those three things.
I am not truly enlightened. It’s true. I am not. A true enlightened person like a Buddha type figure describes enlightenment as a very hard, painful thing. I’ve read enlightenment is described as like crashing with a bunch of people on an airplane into an icy lake. And you swim to the surface of the ice, and bust through and make your way to shore. Now you are enlightened. You have knowledge no one else has. HOWEVER, now you have to dive back into the icy water and save people. You have to swim down deep in the cold waters and find people and bring them to the surface with you so they can feel what you’re feeling. You don’t want to dive back in, though. You want to stay up on shore where it’s warm. (Again, a connection to Christ here. There’s no way he wanted to leave heaven to be with us schmucks and get tortured/killed, but he did it anyway.)
I hope the best for you Lisa. You are very kind and warm hearted. You’re one of those people that I think just get it. You understand that everyone is fighting a great battle internally. Every single person.
When I’m not physically in front of you, you are just a collection of memories to me. Whether those memories are good or bad depends on my experience with you. My beagle passed away over the summer and he is just a collection of memories to me now. What memories did I not have to consciously store, though? Memories of me and him sitting on my parent’s back porch eating ice cream on an unbearably hot day in Big Spring, Texas. The time my girlfriend broke up with me in 8th grade and I was laying on my bathroom floor crying after school and he scratched on the door to be let in so he could lick me all over my face. The memory of trespassing onto someone’s property in the woods behind my house so we could go fishing together in an all but dried up fish-less pond.
And now I’m getting teary eyed. Which feels really, really, good, because I have no choice but to be grateful for every feeling I have. Taking a feeling and immersing myself in it, and running with it. I love feeling all emotions.
I ask myself two questions a lot.

1. Where do I place my value?
2. What do I worship?

I place my own value, my self worth, in my ability to connect deeply with others. It’s all that matters to me.
What do I worship? Well, I will turn to David Foster Wallace once again because I simply cannot do his explanation justice:

"There is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshiping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship — be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles — is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.”

I think I worship myself. I don’t know if that’s good or not. I’m still searching myself for that answer.

Lisa, I don’t think there’s one way to live this life correctly, but I have a found a way for me through seeking change, intimacy, vulnerability and by staying in the present with an open mind, acknowledging that I may be very, very, very wrong about everything. I think it’s insulting to God to say we have it all figured out. God is like Steve Jobs, and we are tiny little ants that are looking at the iPhone, his creation, and we say “Yeah, I know how he made that. I know how it works.” If we could understand God then he wouldn’t be God. I’m not going to insult this omnipresent, omniscient higher power by having the audacity to say I know what his intentions are. He is the Creator, the Artist. I don’t know what his intentions were with his painting. I don’t have a clue.That’s what the bible is, it’s this conversation great minds have about how they interpret Him. I guarantee you if you got all the authors of the Bible in one room together they wouldn’t agree on everything.

I desire to understand Him and seek Him with my “religion” that is extremely personalized for me to point where I can’t call myself a Christian anymore. I want my relationship with him to be so intimate that it’s different from what everyone else has. Everyone’s relationship with God should be special, unique.

It is hard to live this way in the beginning, to be vulnerable/intimate/change seeking etc. It is scary, it’s not easy. No way was it easy.

First I had to get in the kiddie pool. Then I put on some water wingies and waded out there a bit further, and eventually I took the wingies off. Then it got to where I had to float on my own without the security of feeling the pool floor so I won’t drown. I gave up that foundation long ago though.  I’m now standing on the high dive. And let me tell you something, the view is great from up here. I can see for miles.

So one questions remains, should I do a jackknife or a cannonball?

I hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted, Lisa. You deserve it.

Your friend,




Today I woke up from a nap to see my mother had called me 3 or 4 times. She texted me saying I needed to call her as soon as possible. So I did, not really knowing what to expect.

This morning my beloved beagle, Tippy, was struck by a car on the highway. Someone had left the gate open and he got out.

I had to leave him with my parents for the past 9 months because I had no place that would house him. I still would get to see him every time I visited. He was always happy to see me. In two weeks I am getting my own house and I was planning on him living with me. We would finally be reunited again.

You know how they say when you lose someone you go into shock upon hearing the news? That did not take place. I started bawling immediately. Someone called them that afternoon and said they saw a brown and white dog outside our house on the side of the highway. When she got back he was gone. Some good samaritan picked Tippy up already. I wanted to bury him myself. He deserves better than that. Tippy was approaching 11, had arthritis and was grotesquely overweight. He deserved to die with me in my arms. I should have been by his side as he grew old. He would do the same for me.

I got in my car and started driving. Aimlessly.

Crying, listening to Bon Iver, The National etc. It was raining and gloomy, which is perfect when the weather outside matches your emotional state. Being depressed inside on a sunny day only exacerbates things.

I was 40 minutes outside of Abilene in some nameless small town. There was a little church and two or three houses (shacks). I then decided to head back. I had been driving for about 2 hours and was emotionally drained. On my way out of the town, a small dog ran in front of me. I looked back and she was spinning in the road. I had just clipped her and she wasn’t moving. I pulled over.

She was laying with her front left leg sticking straight up in the air and blood was coming out of her ears and side. She was whimpering between rapid, heavy breaths and foaming a bit at the mouth. I weeped in the middle of the highway. I kept telling her how sorry I was. Right in front of me was a little house. It appeared inhabitable. I wasn’t sure if someone even lived there.

I ran up to the a faded dark red door, and knocked. Inside were two little girls, looking up at me with big eyes. I told them to go get mommy. I instructed the mom to tell the girls to stay inside. She stepped outside and immediately knew what had happened. She explained to me that her dogs get hit all the time. We went back to the little black lab. 

"She’s not gonna make it" she said.

She was breathing even harder now and in a lot of pain.

The conversation took place like this:

"Well, my boyfriend took all my guns."

"Just let me take her to the clinic. Please."

"Okay, if that’s what you wanna do but I don’t think she’s gonna make it."

"I’ll pay for it, it’s my responsibility."

"If that’s what you want."

Her two little girls came out about that time to see what was going on. I tried to get them back inside but the mother didn’t seem to care if they witnessed it all. We wrapped her in an old green towel and gently placed her in my front seat. She was yelping but quickly died down after a few seconds. She was in too much pain to scream.

"Look mommy, she pooped on herself."

"I know, that’s what happens when you die."

"Does it hurt to die, mommy?"


Dear Lord. Get me out of here quick.

"She’s not in any pain. She’s going to be okay" I said, taking the role of a parent that didn’t grow up slaughtering cows behind some rusty shed.

She gave me her phone number, and I was on my way.

Mom, skip the next paragraph.

I was going about 120 down country roads while searching for the nearest vet clinic on google maps. It was 8:15 PM. I clicked “Start Destination” and looked at the arrival time.

8:48 PM.

Rat farts.

I had my hand on her head as I was driving. Comforting her in what may be her final moments. I told her she was going to be okay, and to just hang in there for me.

"Be strong for me, okay. You’re going to be fine."

I may have just been talking to myself at that point.

She looked up at me giving me this look as if to say “Dude, thank you so much. I was about to get shot in the friggin head.” And then she immediately passed out again. She was starting to lose some warmth. I could feel it in her ears. I cranked the heat and turned her seat warmer as high as it could go. I’m no doctor, and not even sure if it helped, but I like to think it did. 

"Arriving at your destination on the right." I was a few miles outside Abilene, and whipped into a parking lot of what I thought was a veterinary clinic. 

It wasn’t a veterinary clinic.

I cursed Steve Jobs and immediately went to the one place I knew would be open. We took Tippy there about 5 years ago when he cut his chest on some barbed wire and needed stitches. He was probably chasing the scent of a rabbit that was there 6 days previous and wasn’t paying attention when he ran into it. That lovable goof.

15 minutes later, I arrived at the clinic without a traffic ticket. They put a muzzle on her and brought her inside. So unnecessary. She could barely raise her head.

I told them I had just hit her about 45 minutes ago. I didn’t know whose dog it was (a lie) and that I would pay for everything. It was going to be really expensive for her to stay there over night and get X-rays. They didn’t know what was wrong with her until I paid. However, they said she wasn’t looking very good, and they said I should consider euthanizing her. (murdering her)

I decided to go through with the x-rays to see what was wrong with her first. 

[swipes credit card]

Well, I was saving up for a motorcycle this summer. There’s always next I suppose.

I waited for about 25 minutes for the x-rays to get back. There were no lights in the waiting room, and two creepy tabby cats kept staring at me through a window. A family came through with a german shepard that had cut her paw. I probably looked like a hipster psych ward patient, just staring at their dog with cold, lifeless eyes.

The doctor took me to the back and showed me the x-rays. Her front left leg was broken at the elbow completely. It didn’t even look attached. Because it wasn’t. Luckily there were no internal injuries, and she had head trauma, but no cracked skull. He told me orthopedic surgery was required and I would have to take her to a specialist. Most likely it would just have to be amputated though. The swelling of her brain would go down overnight and she is going to be in a lot of pain till I pick her up at 7 tomorrow to go to a specialist out of town. Twice he emphasized that orthopedic surgery was very expensive, but I couldn’t help but just stare at his designer frame glasses every time he mentioned money. 

I asked if I could see her. She was laying in a dog crate with an IV in her. I patted her on the head, and said goodbye. She is the bravest dog in the entire world, as of this moment.

I named her Emma.

I hope she makes it through the night. I doubt I will get any sleep.

Tippy, you will be missed terribly. If Heaven is anything like I picture it, you’ll be waiting for me on that golden shore. I love you so much and will miss you everyday. I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend.

Here’s to what is hopefully a new beginning.





I recently watched Shut Up and Play The Hits, which brought back all the waves of emotion from LCD Soundsystem’s final concert just over two years ago. In honor of that seminal moment in modern indie rock history, here’s 10 covers of LCD’s greatest tune (and best song of the 2000s)



One of the comedians who helped me at the beginning was a fellow Chicagoan named Jimmy Pardo. Here he is in a really funny piece from Conan, where he also works as the warm up comic for every episode they shoot.

We see each…



One of the comedians who helped me at the beginning was a fellow Chicagoan named Jimmy Pardo. Here he is in a really funny piece from Conan, where he also works as the warm up comic for every episode they shoot.

We see each…



This is me, roughly two years into standup. I want to say the year is 2000 or 2001. I was about 24 years old.

Sometimes people ask my advice about comedy. I don’t have much to give. You just do comedy. That’s it. If you love it, you just keep doing it. You keep going to whatever shitty open mic you can because you can’t help yourself, because sitting at home means you’re not getting better at what you love. You keep writing lousy new material because lousy old material starts to bore the shit out of you. Because repeating your same three decent jokes at an open mic more than a few times feels like jerking off, like wasting the people’s time. 

You fail in front of strangers, your friends, your family. You hear empty encouragement like “Hey, it takes a lot of guts to get up there” from people who don’t have the heart to be honest. “Who was that black/Mexican/Indian/magician/juggler/midget/fat guy/girl? Now that was funny.” Watch comics leave the room when your name is called—it’s the same feeling you had on the playground when someone yelled “Easy out!” as you took the plate. Get called a fag at your first paying gig before you even make it to the microphone. Drink too much before a TV showcase, and watch the booker walk out during your set. 

I guess what I’m saying is standup, as a lifestyle, sucks. It’s designed to make you miserable. You can’t solve it, or graduate from it, or become branch manager. There’s no job placement program, no promotions. You just keep going and going because you’re sick about it. It’s not healthy. It’s not conducive to a relationship. It’s not profitable. It’s not reliable. But what else were you going to do?


I was ALSO there.


I was ALSO there.

(Source: tngbdgrl)


Opportunity not missed. 


Opportunity not missed. 



This stuff on Steve Jobs best thing I’ve seen.

(via steveagee)