Take a person. Make it you. Take you. Now, imagine you’ve made enough money to never work again in your life. A billion dollars, say. But say you don’t. That is, don’t never work again in your life. Because this is real life; because, practically, if you stop working, you won’t have your billion dollars … Continue reading Into the Mind of a Billionaire
1.) Community - People like you who think like you and act like you and look like you and believe what you believe, otherwise we don’t know how to interact with you so therefore you must be our enemy.
2.) Connection - What’s supposed to happen every single time you have sex with your partner. Without exception. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
I’ve recently reached that age where I catch myself starting to say shit like, “When I was a kid, nobody did things like that! Kids these days! Idiots, the lot of them! Get away from my Mercer Raceabout, you fecal-faced gong farmers!” ...
I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed Thursday night when the phone suddenly rings and, in between bong rips, I can hear my girlfriend answer it and begin to field questions in that very polite, earnestly slow-speak she uses exclusively for what I can only guess are old people who’ve accidentally misdialed my home...
I was walking down Blair Boulevard, amazed at how much the strip has changed in the last ten years—primarily from pretentious urban commodities like whiskey-fusion bars, coffee-fusion kiosks, designer beer, farm-to-table restaurants, Mexic-Ital-Yemeni fusion cuisine, Califor-Nigeri-Armenian fusion cuisine, electric tricycle showrooms, designer tacos, sushi restaurants that seat six and have no windows...
My friend Bethany and I met up for drinks on Friday. She needed to talk to someone because she’d just been ghosted by the latest guy she’d met on Bumble, and my brain was identified as one that could be non-invasively picked to try and help find an answer as to why things like this keep happening to her...
Saturday morning, early at the Birchwood, I’m startled out of sleep by the window-muted shouting outside my apartment of a female voice: “Ron! Where you at, Ron! I know you in there! If somebody don’t go and get Ron for me, I am gonna fuh-reeeak!” ...
First of all, I need to say that there is no such thing as ‘psychophysics’. It’s technically not a real thing. There have been psychophysical experiments that have been conducted over the course of the last 100 years or so under the category, mainly, of neuroscientific research, or just ‘neuroscience’, which, itself, is actually a general term that encompasses a number of sciences, both natural and social...
I made it to Cambodia. I was pretty sure I was never even going to see the runway, it seemed so ridiculous when I first went online to look at tickets, but then another fight with my girlfriend, similar to the one that had me pressing the ‘purchase’ button in the first place, got me packing, just the night before my first plane was scheduled to take off...
My friend Vicki and I walked out to the mall on Friday, each got a little bit of food to eat, and then headed back home.
And we’re walking by the river, and I was like, “Oh, hey, this looks like The River House. Vicki, I wanna go in here. Come on. I’ve never been in here, I’ve lived in this town for 34 years, I wanna see what’s in here.” ...
**Note: This has to do exclusively with the visual art that is inherently found in and can be created around the viewing of an abandoned vehicle, not with the actual process of abandoning a vehicle. That's not the message being spread here...
I was over at my friend’s house the other day. He’s got a little 6 year old boy, no cuter than any kid you’ve seen 10,000 times before on Facebook, or circulating on the random smartphone at any given point in time. Just ask those dicks at the NSA...
I’d taken the bus downtown that morning, and had a couple errands to run before heading back to another episode of The-Jerry-Springer-Show-waiting-to-be-booked that was my life at home these days...
Honestly, it is baffling sometimes to see the abandon with which so many humans cross roads and jockey street gutters in and around Eugene, Oregon...
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