37San Francisco, United States
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My self-summary
I once hiked across Corisca 5 days by myself, to catch a sold out ferry back to Nice, in order to make my flight home that day... on a bet. I enjoy going to thrift stores where the single motive is: I pick what you have to wear out tonight, you pick what I have to wear out tonight, meet back in one hour, go. Another fun pastime; coming up with Zen questions, such as but not limited to: "If you have a pair of flip-flops and lose one, how do you know which one you lost, the flip or the flop?" and while gross, albeit intellectually intriguing, "Are scabs like beef jerky to a vampire?" Oh yeah.. I can do a back flip, underwater... well most of the time, occasionally water gets up my nose.

As "Life is proportional to experience" happens to be a personal credo, I travel a lot, by plane, train, and motorcycle (as anything with two wheels is better than four, side note: stop texting while driving, as you're going to be the death of me. Side side note: someone already beat you to that, turns out a texter on 15th and San Bruno decided to run a stop sign. I got to thank them for that when I was pulling my helmet out of their windshield). As I broke no bones, my mother asked "so are you going to stop riding now"? Of which I responded, "no, now I'm just going to get a faster bike, because apparently I'm indestructible". She was unimpressed. I also love Yerba Mate.

I grew my hair out for two years for "locks for love". Then my friend tied the knot and wanted all his groomsmen and friends to have big beards for the wedding. Which of course means I didn't shave until after the wedding... one long year later. After the wedding I called up the same place I had donated my hair only to find out there sadly is no "beards for love".

I recently had a bet with a friend where the loser had to wear a pair of mittens out to the bar. I do not like this bet. One underestimates how difficult it is to order two beers, pay cash, and go to the bathroom when thick knit pink cotton is encapsulating your damn fingers.

Random musings about life in SF.

Presidents day. Woke up. Showered. Brushed the ole pearly whites. Listerined. Immediately became thirsty. Got dressed. Walked out side, noticed my jeep side mirror had been ripped off, and human poo right next to the door. Obviously my mirror ripped off as he held onto it while popping a squat.
Text responses to this quandary in order in which they were received
Johnny; "Welcome to SF".
Mom: "Honey be nice, next time a least put a toilet paper roll on your antenna"
Pops: "Boy, I'm trying to enjoy my retirement. You made me get up out of the garage. I think your mom is about to text you something crazy."

I put 5 dollars in a film canister, buried it in GG park, made a treasure map, soaked it in tea, burnt the edges, (you know the whole nine yards, after all it is the little details that, to use the nomenclature of our times "make it pop") and ended up giving it to the first kid on Haight street to ask for money. Made their day. So much in fact they want a map every time I see them now. Of which I respond "I'm not always hopped up on energy drinks with nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon"

Friend: "You're warm, lay next to me so I don't need a blanket".
Me: "I'm down...get it?"
Friend: "You're lucky you're warm and I'm cold."

Friend: "So, apparently a taradactyl hit my plane as it was landing....they decided to board us anyhow, and now we get to sit and wait for ????? hours (been 1 so far) to get the maintenence crew to approve my flight home. I'm going to miss Turkey day, boo!!!!"
Me:"Sounds more like a "terror"dactyl."

I totally called the wrong number (on Dec 6) and got an asian lady asking me what type of take out I wanted. At first I was like "what" but then was thinking, I'm hungry "I'll have me one order of Admiral Tso's chicken". Lady got all angry I didnt know he was a general, so I was all like "look I don't care what kind of man he was on the battlefield, I just know he was an amazing chef". Then miraculously they didn't deliver in my area. So. Lame.

One day on my way into the lab I noticed a bunch of pizza boxes spilling forth from a trashcan so much so that they were actually pilling a few deep on the surrounding ground. I thought "man what kind of pizza party went on last night"? Then I look over and notice a squirrel on top of a slice of pizza, being picky, and eating just the toppings it wanted to. Now if you know me, you know I hate Stanford squirrels. Why? Because they are overweight from eating cookies and other said treats from the trashcan. They are also unafraid. So, I was like "yo squirrel that pizza is too big for you" and walked within 10 feet. He didn't move. So I took another step, then another, then about two more. When I was finally close enough to basically share the slice, the squirrel seemed to think, fine I'll move (probably didn't want to share his dumpster pizza, selfish bastard). He tried to pick up the slice of pizza, mind you it was bigger than him, and run... well walk slowly away. He dropped the pizza between a grate, rendering it impossible to retrieve. The little guy looked up at me as we heard the pizza tumbling into oblivion like "dude, why, you've cut down all my trees, now you won't even let me grub on some pizza" in such a sad face. I was like "shut up diabetes squirrel".

I am bodacious, piquant, and a la mode

tl;dr I saved a squirrel from diabetes.
What I’m doing with my life
I had been putting off the real world for as long as possible by continuously going to school. Unfortunately that gig is pretty much played out as I now have a PhD in physics and work at Stanford. Why so much school was needed to put random things in an oven and see what happens is beyond me (maybe more schooling is required to understand). I suppose its is time to buy one of those blazer's with the elbow patches (they are actually quite expensive, for reasons I have yet to understand, probably they last forever with protective gear already stitched in), start smoking a pipe and go around saying things like "quite, quite, I DO concur"... on a skateboard.

I was a faculty member at the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory in Tallahassee Florida. People always want to know what I did, so here you go. We took random shit off the periodic table tossed it into an oven, turned the oven on, waited some amount of time, pulled it out and hoped we made a material completely new to human civilization. Then we were all thought, I bet nature would be like "whoa what the hell man" if we put this new material under the presence of the worlds strongest magnet (well over 1 million times the strength of Earth's magnetic field). Most of the time the material was like, "hey man, what's your deal... actually, I feel kind of good man, I'm going to totally change my vibe into some new state of matter you don't even know how to describe". Then we would spend 6 months figuring out what the hell is going on, then publish a paper in some fancy journal and have a celebratory pint.

You did read the part that said Tallahassee Florida. Try living in Santa Fe for 6 years then San Francisco for 4 years then moving back to the deep south. You could do it, that's awesome man, I could not. So I was randomly back in the Bay for a wedding and my buddy was all like "We miss you, move back. I already gave your CV to my manager and you have an interview if you want it, or at least a free trip back to visit us".

So, 2 months later I had a job offer doing plasma physics back in the Bay. I've been back 6 months. It's a rad place.
I’m really good at
Talking my way out of trouble. I've never spent a night in jail, no matter how many times I should have.
The first things people usually notice about me
A judo chop of intellect to the brain they weren't fast enough to dodge.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Noise Makers:
Old delta blues, house, and the voice of your friends with the wind of a cold night and the crackle of a campfire playing backup.

Death box boob tube:
you know in england they call it tele. so weird.

Monkey's on a typewriter:
Ishmael by Daniel Quinn is a MUST read (notice the capital letters in must, this is to make sure a high level of importance is strongly conveyed to the reader). 1984 by the great George Orwell. The Giving Tree by non-other than Shel Silverstein. Jitterbug Perfume by the funny Tom Robbins. Finally Narcissus and Goldmund by Herman Hesse.

Lights, Camera, Action:
"OVER THE LINE!" : "I was not Walter mark it eight Dude" "Smokey if you mark it eight, you are entering a world of pain"--- "HEY YOU GUYS!"--- "I'm a mog, half man, half dog, I'm my own best friend"--- "A-goonie-gue-rue"--- "OUWW... my neck and my back, I'm suing for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, but we can settle out of court right now...."--- "You like them? them's 20's...Ok they 10's, but i keep 'em clean"--- "I dont want to be like carlos, I just cant help it if my equipment looks like you could buy it at radio shack in 1974"--- "We're alike, me and cat. A couple of poor nameless slobs." "Nihilihists, fuck dude, I mean say what you want about the tenants of national socialism, but at least it has a fucking ethos"--"Please dont wake my friend, he's dead tired"--"Deprived of lessons, I decided to run away."
Six things I could never do without
In no particular order:

1. Friends that challenge and push me
2. Sex. Rough, dirty, kinky
3. Motorcycle
4. Clean Socks
5. Peanut Butter Cookies

I only need five. I like to keep it simple.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Is the addiction to adrenaline, motorcycle riding, skate/surf/snowboarding, knowing if you don't pay attention you can get hurt, force one to stay alert, focused, to stop thinking, to be in the moment? Is it a forced enlightenment? The being, the self, the present, is this the adrenaline junkies quick fix into the window of nirvana?
On a typical Friday night I am
Doing a little of that, a little more of this, some of that other thing, not so much of that, not yet anyway, its technically saturday when that takes place.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I am a rather decisive guy. Expect for this one quirk when it comes to the pasta sauce and salad dressing aisles at the grocery store. I just get sucked in forever, and then walk away like, man should I have purchased the Northern Italian with Rosemary, I mean, the Country French with Sage and Herbs looked just as good. Yeah right, I know exactly what to do. Put a little of each on the leafy green treat then let Italy and France reek havoc on the battlefield of my taste-buds.

Sometimes this southern-boy misses the beach and bar-b-que. You west coasters will never get it right.
You should message me if
If you can be a muse to me as I no doubt will to you. I'm talking the mad-insane type creative, synapses firing in an orchestra of chaos.

Also, puns and word play.
The two of us