I moved to New York because I got tired of never knowing what the hell anyone was talking about on Law & Order. Does everyone jogging in Central Park find a dead body? Are there really that many dead hookers under the BQE? Was Jerry Orbach's hair real?
My life's goal is to make Weebles stop wobbling and start falling down... Those cocky bastards just stand there, wobbling, laughing in the very face of gravity. And yes, gravity totally has a face; that's where its mustache is.
Gravity's mustache droops (duh), and I kind of envision it looking like the Pringles guy. You know what the best Pringles flavor is? Tomato Salsa, and I'm sorry if I didn't give you enough time to answer. I get impatient when I'm talking about Pringles, and I totally lick the artificial flavoring off before I eat them, too, but only if I think no one's watching. You're not watching me, are you? Because if you are that's kind of strange. I'm just a dude eating some Pringles; there's nothing to see here, weirdo.
Anyway, to pay the bills while working toward total and utter weeblicide, I'm an engineer at a startup, but I can assure you that it's not as glamorous as you might think. You're probably envisioning me spending the majority of my time sitting around in a hot tub, surrounded by scantily-clad ladies, drinking champagne straight from the bottle, when that's really only, like, 10% of my day. The rest of it is spent sitting at a desk with almost no champagne, which is an absolute travesty.
“I was told there would be no math,” he replied.
Blaming it on Colonel Mustard, in the conservatory, with the lead pipe. Carousing. Actually reading your profile instead of going straight to the pictures. Laughing so hard I snort. Complimenting the chef. Looking good in a suit. High-fiving. Puffery. Jazz guitar. Eating really spicy food. Not calling people "brah." Checking the mic (ONE, TWO). Giving German tourists directions to the Apollo.
Finding these eggs to be shallow and pedantic. Digression. Heading 'em off at the pass. Tying ties. The NY Times crossword. Blessing the rains down in Africa, because apparently white guys can do that, according to Toto. Using chopsticks. Keeping secrets. Talking like a pirate. Getting my passport stamped (a lot). Figuring out who did it in this episode of CSI before anybody else. Rolling the hard six. Listening. Kicking ass, but not really bothering to take names, because seriously, who has that kind of time in this day and age? Climbing trees. Becoming a regular. Staying hydrated. Not leaving half-empty bottles of wine laying around the house. Rocking a rhyme that's right on time, no matter how tricky it may be.
Using the word "huzzah" appropriately (and frequently). Tipping well. Impressing your parents. Separating two independent clauses. Not owning Crocs. Being ready to order, no matter how little time I've had to look at the menu. Destabilizing foreign governments (ask me how). Telling identical twins apart. Standing and delivering. Cooking without a recipe.
Acting like I totally knew the answer to that Jeopardy question and would have obviously said it out loud if I hadn't been chewing, and why are you acting like I didn't? Mario Kart. Recognizing when someone needs a hug. Doubting your commitment to SparkleMotion. Bar trivia. Monopoly. Knowing when to use an adverb. Playing air drums to The Pixies. Not looking out of place. Tying my shoes.
Seriously, you guys, I'm like a zen master of shoe-tying. The very existence of Velcro is an affront to my finely-honed skills.
Also, many ladies wish to be carnal with me because I'm such a premium dancer.
Also also, brevity.
Apparently I have really blue eyes, because that's generally what people tell me first. I seriously had a girl come up to me on the train just to tell me how "beautiful" my eyes are. I'm sure you ladies are used to that sort of thing, but as a dude, you're totally caught off guard and reply with something completely idiotic that causes the old Haitian man standing next to you to shake his head in disgust and spend three stops lecturing you on exactly what you should have said to be more "smooth."
Anyway, when I say blue, I mean, like, cerulean (or #9BC4E2 for any robots reading this), which is totally a real color that I did not just make up, as anyone who has ever seen a Cerulean Cuckooshrike is aware. Incidentally, the Cerulean Cuckooshrike is endemic to the tropical lowland forests of central Indonesia, and is closely related to neither the Cuckoo nor the Shrike.
I know, right?
Also, sometimes I have an errant nose hair which can be pretty striking.
My favorite movie is Harvey, and if you don't get it or you think it's stupid, you probably have no soul. Having no soul is totally a dealbreaker, unless you're a robot, because there are some pretty sexy-ass robots out there. Remember Rosie? From the Jetsons?
Also, please take note of the difference in hyphenation between "sexy-ass robots" and "sexy ass-robots." I learned that the hard way.
I don't have a TV; thanks to the magic of Hulu Plus, I do watch some stuff on occasion, but I'm not going to list it because you're probably not even reading this part and that's not very nice of you. I should also mention that, as a man, I'm drawn to Cops like a moth to a flame... A pointless, idiotic, mind-numbing flame, best enjoyed with beer and other Cro-Magnons. It's genetically coded into the Y chromosome and I refuse to apologize for it.
I read a lot (see "no TV" above), but generally just nerdy sci-fi and spy stuff. It's dorky enough that I'm not going to regale you with titles. I just finished Starfish, and it was pretty hard to put down, like a balloon, or someone who's already having a pretty rough day because what kind of asshole do you take me for?
Spotify thinks I like Death Grips, Bastille, and The Neighbourhood, but as for old favorites... Sometimes it's indie folk; other times, it's synth pop or 90's alternative. I also have a huge soft spot for French hip-hop, especially MC Solaar. As far as American hip-hop goes, I think it pretty much peaked with Naughty By Nature's Hip-Hop Hooray, which is still in my top 10 favorite songs ever and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it was playing the first time I ever touched a boob in seventh grade. Oh, and Sarah McLachlan's Possession is probably the sexiest song ever written but it would be weird if a dude sung it. Like, "Wow, what kind of serial rapist is this guy?"
* The episode of Who's The Boss where Tony accidentally sees Angela in the shower
* Sunday brunch with good company, by which I mean eggs benedict and a little something to take the edge off
* Someone around to high-five, frequently, because high-fiving is the ultimate expression of human joy
* A properly poured Guinness from a bartender who understands what "put one in the queue for me" means
* Jimmy Stewart providing the voice of my internal monologue, although preferably not Hitchcock-era Jimmy Stewart
* Q-tips, because aural hygiene is totally a priority in my life
Robots. And dinosaurs. And how awesome it would be if robots could ride around on the backs of dinosaurs, giving high-fives to complete strangers and beating up people who make fun of my shirt. It's a totally cool shirt; my mom even said so!
Oh, man, you know what else is totally cool, like my shirt? Doughnuts. Who doesn't love doughnuts? Especially the ones with sprinkles. Sprinkles make *everything* better. I seriously sat here for five whole minutes trying to think of something that would not be made better by the addition of sprinkles, and I came up with nothing. A cheeseburger? Pork fried rice? An egg white omelet with heirloom tomatoes, fresh goat cheese, and wilted spinach? Waiting in line at the DMV? All better with sprinkles.
Hey, speaking of doughnuts, is it acceptable to spell that word as "donuts" in this day & age, because who has time to type those extra three letters (other than me, apparently)? And whatever happened to the Dunkin' Donuts guy? Do you think he retired to Boca Raton, or was he taken out by a hit-man working working for the increasingly powerful bagel mafia (the Lox Boys)? If he really was killed, I hope there are sprinkles in heaven and he gets all he wants, because he made really good coffee.
Oooh, I just thought of something: a root canal would not be good with sprinkles, mostly because the dentist would try to feed you some line about the sprinkles being why you were there in the first place. Whatever, Corbin Bernson! Just give me some freaking dentures and let's call it a day; I got stuff to do.
Like eating sprinkles.
Um, definitely not getting caught up reading the entire Wikipedia entry for Castle Grayskull and then looking up and realizing that it's late and I should probably just go to bed and dream about having the power, and whether or not there are any good travel deals to Planet Eternia this time of year, and what season would it be there anyway? And seriously, where in the West Village is Skeletor buying all those blue leather harnesses?
For real, though, I'd be out having dinner or after dinner drinks with other, equally sophisticated connoisseurs of the arts, laughing gaily while discussing the myriad plot-holes of RoboCop 2, because pointing out the mistakes of others (particularly Irving Kirschner) makes me seem better by comparison. This is psych 101, people. Geez.
I try not to stay out too late Friday nights because on Saturday mornings I volunteer with a literacy program at an elementary school, or I go to the gym if it's my day off.
I love macaroni and cheese so much that I'd totally have sex with it if I could. For reference, I can't. If I were to try, and this is totally hypothetical, it would burn me in such a way as to make me useless to a woman. Or, so I hear.
Look, I've never had sex with a bowl of macaroni and cheese, ok? Can we just drop it already? It's not like I saw Jason Biggs have sex with an apple pie and thought, "Hey, if we're allowed to put our penises in bowls of rich tasty goodness, I think I'll go have sex with macaroni and cheese!" That's not how it happened at all. Er, I mean, it totally didn't happen, like I said. Haven't you been paying attention?
I'm just saying that if it had happened, which it totally didn't, it would have been something real. That kid in that movie just had sex with an apple pie because it was available, that cheap pastry whore! Macaroni and cheese and I had a long-standing relationship and I'm not going to have it questioned by some stranger that I don't even know and who probably wouldn't appreciate bread crumbs anyway.
I mean, it's definitely not like I totally wanted to, but macaroni and cheese just wasn't ready to take that step, even though it let me get to second base before we had that discussion and I was totally understanding on the outside but on the inside I was secretly wondering if apple pie had plans that weekend. (For reference, apple pie did have plans that weekend, probably with that numbnuts Jason Biggs again.) But that's not important right now. What is important is that I became a better person as a result of my totally 100% non-sexual as-far-as-you-can-prove relationship with macaroni and cheese.
Also, you may have seen an episode of Dateline NBC: To Catch A Predator floating around that just happens to involve some creepy dude chasing undercooked macaroni and cheese. Well, I'd just like to clarify that the guy on that episode is totally not me, and they told me it wasn't even going to air anyway because no one really cares about macaroni and cheese, which I think is the real crime.
You're not secretly an evil robot overlord from the planet Zergon-5, hell-bent on the very destruction of humanity. Sorry, but I've had bad experiences in the past and I've got to draw the line somewhere. I enjoy drawing, but I'm terrible at it, which is why I stick to just drawing lines. They're pretty easy. One time I tried to draw a truck but it came out looking more like a camel (specifically a dromedary). Camels are totally funny looking, probably because they have such huge teeth. I've always thought that they'd be great as the comic relief in a show about pack animals. Why isn't there a show about pack animals? I would totally watch that.
I mean, I watch Cops, for God's sake.