The drunk kids, the Catholics; they’re all about the same.

Ride into the sun. The damage is done.

I once read that “you should never meet your heroes.” It’s pretty sound advice. What if they turn out to be a jerk? What if I (most likely) have nothing interesting to say?

Having avoiding meeting David Sedaris after a reading back in June, I went against practical advice and went down to Baltimore to see Chuck Klosterman read from his new book and do a Q&A and signing.

I was already planning for the signing weeks in advance. Do I bring Fargo Rock City to prove how long of a fan I’ve been? Do I bring Downtown Owl or Visible Man to prove that I’m such a super fan that I’d even read his mediocre forays into fiction? I can’t bring Sex, Drugs, and Coco Puffs because that’s way too obvious! What is this, amateur hour? IV is a retrospective… I Wear the Black Hat is the book fair equivalent of wearing the t-shirt of the band you’re seeing live (I guess)… But despite having several books to choose from, I was able to narrow it down quickly: so I brought Killing Yourself to Live, which in all honestly is one of my top five favorite books of all time. I over thought a very obvious choice, but then again that’s how I make 99% of the decisions in my life. Did I mention that I also blow things out of proportion?

So after the very funny and very insightful Q&A, I ran to get in line for the signing, and while I was waiting it dawned on me that I truly had nothing interesting to say. I mean this is the guy who said everything I ever wanted to say (but better than I could ever hope to). When it came time for me to approach him, I handed him my book and stammered something about also liking the Smiths. Smooth. I asked if he’d humor me with a selfie and he seemed genuinely pleased to oblige me, but probably only because I was 3rd in line and he hadn’t been inundated with requests for photos. I shook his hand and thanked him and walked away.

"You stupid bastard, did you really just ask one of your literary heroes for a selfie? You know he’s judging you and your craving for validation and attention through social media. He’s going to write about your stupid fucking mustache on Grantland. He’s never going to do a reading again because of people like you," I thought as I walked away with a massive grin plastered on my face.

Don’t let me meet Morrissey. Please.

Matadors chase the bulls in a china shop.

I’m so glad that I’m an island.





You took the high road. I couldn’t find you up there.


Big and little

Each passing day, I am more and more convinced that Grover is my spirit animal.

(via ruinedchildhood)

I want to start from before the beginning.

view archive

Ask me anything. Or don't. Whatever.