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I dig things. All of them. Or at least, most of them. They are cool. I like learning about them.

I like bread. A lot. And potatoes. Potato Bread being just about manna from fucking above.

Man.

I've got me a fancy B.F.A. in Film from the Rochester Institute of Technology. I minored in Spanish. I'm teaching myself guitar and trying to pave a road of art for my future. Maybe I'll write stuff.

I'm now a producer at WGME 13. Right now it's part time work, but it's good times. I organize and write most of a show. This time of year it could be any show as other producers take time off. Regularly, I make the 10 PM show happen on Fridays and Saturdays and produce Monday's News 13 At Seven - The Political Edge.

And... uh... bars?

I think I'm pretty good at writing. I'm good at listening to music. And watching movies. And skiing, I'm pretty good at skiing. Swimming.

I'm tall. Blue eyes. I'm funny. Ever changing facial hair.

You might notice that I'm "less mathematical" than most of these fine chaps ------------->

I won't argue. Math bugs me.

A. Slaughterhouse Five and Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut. SH-5 could be my bible. Where the Wild Things Are. Elmore Leonard. Snow Crash. Joe R. Lansdale. Sin City. Heinlein. Hunter S. Thompson. Stephen King. On The Road(is anyone else feeling a Beat Vibe with the current generation?) Tolkein. Samurai Cat. Moore. The Game.

B. Sin City. The Coen Brothers. Terry Gilliam. Spike Jonze. Peter Jackson. Sam Raimi. Jim Jarmusch. Charlie Kaufman. Michel Gondry. Quentin Tarantino. Luc Besson. Tim Burton. Jeunet et Caro. The Alien Movies. Stanley Kubrik. Mean Girls. Pixar. Robert Rodriguez. Shaun of the Dead. Hustle and Flow. Firefly. Serenity

C. The Black Keys. Tom Waits. The Beatles. Soul Coughing. Monster Magnet. Mike Patton(Faith No More, Mr. Bungle, Tomahawk). Mindless Self Indulgence. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Johnny Cash. Queens of the Stone Age. Bob Dylan. Beck. Kyuss. Nirvana. Screaming Trees. Primus. The White Stripes. The Underacheivers. Q Lazzarus. (hed)p.e. Del tha Funkee Homosapien. Gorillaz. Dan the Automator. Junior Kimbrough. R.L. Burnside. Sufjan Stevens. John Legend.

D. I've taken to eating a lot of Mexican sorta foods lately. Good stuff there.

People. Music. Books. Brains. Dogs. Food.

Life and love and all that bullshit. It is, but I think about it anyway.

But perhaps more importantly, will I survive the impending zombie apocalypse? Anyone else have fantasy situations worked out for this? Mine involves me, a motorcycle, my guitar and the desert.

Also, why do I like bread so much?

Pining, positively pining, for Wegmans. But going to bars, hosting parties (Beach Themed, Big Lebowski Themed), learning to cook and going to see live music have served pretty well in taking my mind off the best grocery store in the univizzle.

Some esteemed colleagues of mine and I embarked a slight foray some call a "pub crawl." We visited three fine establishments within walking distance and purchased alcoholic beverages from the fine employees within. We moved from one to next to the last...to the second to the first. It was a night of fine beers and fine company. Upon revisiting the second a hospital employee was sitting at the bar nursing a pitcher and a pillow I would later discover was intended for his daughter. Of course, when I walked up to the bar to buy myself another beverage for further imbibulation, he looked at me and said to the barkeep, "Bring me another glass." And he proceeded to give me about half his pitcher at no charge. I wound up telling him he was "a good father" despite the fact that he was at a bar at 1:30 on a Thursday night giving beers to a local college boy. With our arrival at the house of my esteemed colleagues the beer pong commenced on the lawn. As I'd quaffed a fair number of alcoholic beverages (no fewer than 10, certainly) the events at this point seem hazy. But I remember at one point all involved in the game were shirtless (alas, no women abound) and I got a hot dog.

Cut to:

KRISTER, 21, a tallish chap haphazardly riding his bicycle across an empty parking lot on the U of R campus, which lies between his embarking point and his destination. Of course, in his drunken stupor he is completely lost, but not terribly concerned about it. He is weaving between the lights in the parking lot like they were traffic cones.

A Campus Safety vehicle pulls up and out steps an OFFICER, 30. Krister probably can't hide his drunkeness all that well, and the officer demand that someone come get me. Which is fine by me, I just want to get home and sleep it off, anyway. He has me call a roommate, I call Ben. Ben's car is, of course, blocked in by mine in our driveway, so the best he can do is come and walk with me. I have to tell Ben where I am. The conversation goes a little bit like this:

Krister: Ben, I'm on...(to officer)what are we on?

Officer: Intercampus Drive.

Krister: Interzone drive!

Officer: Intercampus!

Krister: Intercampus drive! Ben, I'm on Intercampus drive and (to officer) Hey, I got the word Interzone from this book I just read called Naked Lunch, sorry. (to Ben) Ben, I'm on Interzone

Officer: Intercampus

Krister: Interzone drive and I need you to come pick me up.

Officer: (defeated) Have him meet you at the footbridge. I'll drive you there

Krister: Ben, meet me at the footbridge!

Also, the officer asked several times if I needed hospitalization. It probably couldn't have hurt. I should've purged at some point, I was hung over for the whole of the next day.

And, on a weird endnote, I had to relay all this to my mother because I accidentally called her at some point and that's the only reason I could think of, that I dialed her instead of Ben. But I called her, it turns out, a full hour and a half before these events. So it's still a mystery to me.

I haven't been half as drunk since that happened, so I guess I learned something.

You rock the socks like it's nobody's business. I'm talking serious sock-rockage.

You dig it the most, baby.