Petrichor.

Working for a company that does a lot of cool stuff for original web series.

Feeding my love of food, beer, wine, and spirits. And music.

Living in Bushwick. And all that entails.

Need to play my lectric violin moar.

If I could get a fast internet connection in the boonies, I'd probably be saving up to buy an abandoned atlas missile silo and build it into a modern house/supervillian lair.

Drinking. Coding. Imagining. ... a few others, somewhere.

I have two different colored eyes.

Neal Stephenson, William Gibson, a little bit of early 20th century Russian absurdism. Noam Chomsky. Kurt Vonnegut. Aldous Huxley.

Brazil is my favorite. I'm not listing the whole shebang.

Classical to bluegrass to metal to avant-garde electronic to who the fuck knows what. I can't give you my favorites because it ultimately depends on my mood and current task. But radiohead.. yes.

TV is Archer, Dr. Who, Battlestar, Stargate, and various crappy crime dramas.

If it tastes good I love it. Except bowls of green peas. Those give me panic attacks. And peanut butter. Sorry, don't like it. Sticks to the roof of my mouth. And fuck captain crunch, that shit is made of sugar and razor blades for serious. Cuts the crap out of the roof of your mouth.

Sex, drugs and transistors. IPA, ginger ale (the real stuff, not that schwepps crap), and coffee.

At this particular moment? Whether or not humanity will self destruct, and whether or not this is in fact related to the Fermi Paradox.

Ten minutes ago I was thinking about something else. Probably cake. Or lemons. Cave Johnson said it best: When life gives you lemons, ask to see life's manager. Then burn his house down with the fucking lemons.

Out with a few friends. If the weather is absolutely abysmal, reading or hulu/netflix/amazon ondemand. Yeah. I'm a cord cutter.

I sometimes jump out of planes.

Let's take over the world.