Food. Eating. Cooking. Restaurants. Organically grown/hormone-free/pesticide-free/free-range/grass-fed ingestables. Family. Travel. Writing. Music. Skinhead. Money. Walking for miles and miles. Margaritas. French everything. Sarcasm. Landmark Education(!!!). European history. Croquet. Wandering the streets at night. Bonfires on the beach. Occasional violence. The Tao. Hypocrisy. San Francisco. Not driving. Catching frogs and wading around in rivers. Prawn burritos. Hidden spots. Hole-in-the-wall bars. The smell of skunk. Frangelico in steamed milk. Board games. Dancing. Possibilités sans Limites. Riesling. Tattoos. Monacos. Mead. Opossoms. Shuffleboard. Badminton. Road trips. Reading books at bars.
Endless and Various Skinhead Reggae, MF Doom, Coldplay, Paul Simon, Templars, Feist, Rufus Wainwright, X, George Strait, Eddie & the Hot Rods, Huey Lewis and whatever the hell else I want to listen to.
No, I only watch LOST episodes.
Lost Check Please! Bay Area, No Reservations.
"Along the open road on winter nights, homeless, cold, and hungry, one voice gripped my frozen heart: "Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength.... You don't know where you are going or why you are going; go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse." In the morning my eyes were so vacant and my face so dead that the people I met may not even have seen me." -Rimbaud
My mother.