If I were a cop, I’d just park across the street from a KFC/Taco Bell every night. I mean, it’s gotta be a 100% arrest rate when people drive out of the drive-thru, right? Anyone buying an actual bucket of chicken or a sandwich with two pieces of fried chicken used as the bread are on drugs 1,976% of the time. If you are a policeman and you are reading this, congratulations. I just got you promoted to a job where you don’t have to sit outside of a KFC/Taco Bell arresting people.

I am confused by people who sign up to be urologists for a living. Look. I’m just sayin’. I don’t know how much the money differential is, but I’m guessing it’s a lot or most of these guys are closeted, because I have one and even I would argue that I don’t really want to look at penises for a living. Like, you had a choice. Of ANY body part, and you said, “Penises. I choose to look at Penises for a living.” Really? Were the check boxes like this?

YOUR CHOICES:

Face Doctor – 200k w/ benefits.

Foot Doctor – 300k w/ benefits, because feet are weird.

Penis Doctor – 1 BILLION DOLLARS. ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY YOU WANT. SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE GOING TO LOOK AT PENISES ALL DAY.

*My favorite part about writing this…when I did about two months ago…was finding out approximately one week later that my cousin Laura is a urologist. I’m sorry Laura. I’m a dick. HEY-O!

I have a pediatric electrolyte supplement drinking problem. You should read that back, but out loud this time. It turns out it’s a killer way to cure a hangover. The only catch is that you’re drinking something that a baby drinks when it has diarrhea. So, you can imagine how that conversation is when you ask a Walgreen’s employee where the baby formula aisle is with no baby in sight. Or what it looks like when you are feverishly pounding a bottle of grape on your way to work and people in other cars are looking at you. Ready for this? I now even eat the FREEZER POPS that they sell, because that’s not weird. But hey, guess what: I’m hydrated, motherf*cker. What are you?

I don’t understand how people design traffic light systems. It just seems like it would be really complicated. I know, because in Sim City I was terrible at it and it had to be the most stressful thing in the world when my not real people were getting in not real traffic jams that were making them late for their not real home lives, which presumably caused them to get not real divorced and THAT’S ON ME AND I LIVE WITH IT EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Oh, Republicans. You guys had it so easy in the coming election year. I say that because America is generally batshit crazy and I just figured that they wouldn’t be cool with having a black guy as our president for more than four years before they had a “THE CIVIL WAR ISN’T OVER” panic attack. To be fair, it sort of still sounds like that’s happening. And in that instance, it seems like to win the hearts of your batshit crazy cohorts, all you had to do was nominate two “not black guys” and…no, you know what? You honestly had to just nominate anyone who didn’t sound like they had been drinking all morning before they started filming things and you probably would have had the next President elect. But you sure found a way to…not do that. Your current nominee options are Rick Perry, Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich. So basically:

1) The only guy in Texas who manages to make George Bush look like a Rhodes Scholar.

2) A crazy Mormon who believes in magical underpants. (!!)

and

3) ….Newt Gingrich. Who I’m pretty sure has been running for president since 1848. (Probably not gonna happen, big guy. Maybe sit this one out.)

What’s even more amazing is that you ruled out one other guy because he was quoting Pokemon in his speeches. (!!!)

So, in advance, may I say thank you from every Democrat. We’re running against the equivalent of mouth breathers in sweatpants with weird mustard stains in the corner of their lips. Things are looking up.

There are too many toothpaste options these days, and my neurotic brain can’t handle it. 

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want whitening?”

Drew: “Sure.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want tartar control?”

Drew: “I mean, I’d assume so, sure…you guys are the experts.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want extra whitening?”

Drew: “…well, sure. Why didn’t you just put the ‘extra’ in the last batch..”

Toothpaste Brand: “3-D whitening?”

Drew: “Wait, what?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about cavity protection.”

Drew: “Dude, what the f*ck. Why wasn’t I getting that before?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about an extreme clean?”

Drew: “…”

Then again, I guess I’ve never been able to make up my mind about this. Ever.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 56: A Mix For Cops To Listen To Outside of a KFC/Taco Bell

Stream the whole thing at the link above (or by clicking on the picture with too much toothpaste in it).

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I was informed today by someone with a medical degree that I have not been able to close my eyes my entire life.

I’ll wait while you digest that.

No, seriously: A doctor told me that I am incapable, and have been my ENTIRE LIFE, of closing my eyes. (!!!)

This was the actual conversation.

Drew: “My eyes just feel really tired. And dry. Pretty much always. So there’s that.”

(Doctor inspects eyes.)

Doctor: “Well. You can’t fully close your eyes it appears.”

Drew: “…”

Doctor: “Yes. You have a slight opening between your eyelid and your eye. Has anyone ever told you while you were sleeping that your eye is sort of open?”

Drew: “Wouldn’t it be more strange/creepy…take your pick, really…that they were just staring at me in my sleep?”

Doctor: “Well, you can’t close your eyes fully. So you’re eyes are just permanently dry. We’ll have to get you some eye drops and..”

Drew: “Can we go back to the part where I’ve never closed my eyes my entire life?”

Doctor: “Sure.”

Drew: “Could we fix that?”

Doctor: “No. I mean, technically you’ve always had one eye open!”

(Doctor laughs at her own joke.)

(Drew does not laugh at doctor’s joke.)

I’m clearly presented with two options: be wildly depressed that I’m always going to be sort of tired looking, or simply embrace the fact that oh my god there are so many funny jokes that could come out of this.

I’ll obviously choose a healthy dose of both. But the latter is way more fun.

Here are some things that I now know about my life, and/or things that you could laugh about due to the fact that I have theoretically never actually closed my eyes.

I have technically been cheating at hide-n-go-seek my entire life. So, sorry if I ever was “it” and found you really quickly. Apparently I was looking.

I have never lost a staring contest. Ever.

I’m apparently better at not getting shampoo in my eyes than you are. Because we weren’t on an even playing field. On that note…

It totally makes sense why I ALWAYS get suntan lotion in my eyes. This has been a running joke with my friends ever since we were little. We figured I was just the worst at applying suntan lotion, ever. And that may still very well be the case. But still. This makes so much more sense now.

I have never kissed a girl with my eyes closed. So technically, I could be that “creepy guy who always kept his eyes open” to some girl. Sorry, some girl. I was trying.

I could be in a few films and they’d be sort of amazing. 

FILM 1: Don’t Blink – The story of a man whom, after scientific testing by the government gone horribly awry, could no longer keep his eyes closed. Though a tortured soul, I’d become a huge asset to the government, as I would be an ideal sniper and/or guy who stays up on watch all night. Sample dialogue:

Bad Guy: “Blink and you might miss it.”

Drew: “Don’t worry. (GUN COCKING NOISE). I won’t.”

FILM 2: Cries WIthout Tears – The story of a man born into a Native American tribe who is originally cast aside…but then brought in as one of their own when they realize he can’t close his eyes and they realize his gift for “seeing everything” they cannot, both metaphorically and literally, of course.

I can’t wink. At least now I have a bad/good excuse.

I have a really good excuse for having red eyes if anyone ever says I look high. I can just tell them that my eyes are open ALL THE TIME and i’m NOT LYING. Like, what?

And finally…It’s always going to make me laugh now when Aladdin says “Don’t you dare close your eyes!” during the song A Whole New World.

Because I can’t, Aladdin.

I can’t.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 54: Songs That Are Great, Even If You Can’t Close Your Eyes. Ever.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I am not a competitive person by nature. I’m certainly not someone who’s ever going to get something by means of bargaining or having that “killer instinct” that people speak of that gets you ahead in life.

(Side note: Can we talk about how messed up the term “killer instinct” is? We casually throw around that people have an instinct that gets them ahead in life because it resembles a cold blooded human being who kills other people for sport. That’s cool. You can have the last Tostito.)

I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized that this is why I’ve always been terrible at board games. And, inversely, why I’ve been terrible at a lot of rudimentary things in life. Money management. Property acquisition. The ability to completely screw someone over without wanting to talk about their feelings afterwards.

And when you think about it: board games are actually just a really f*%ked up way to learn about life and how it’s going to go down. Essentially, we’re providing children an oddly solid grasp of how the world works through a man with a monocle and a game revolving around murdering people in rooms with silly names.

So. Of course. I went fifteen steps further and started overanalyzing it.

Here’s a breakdown of a few popular board games you probably grew up with and the life lessons they were probably striving to teach you.

Monopoly

Monopoly is a game that, title alone, should be a red flag. When you grow up, you learn that having a “monopoly” over anything is everything that is wrong in the world, so much so that we’re having a bunch of protests regarding such behavior right now. But guess what: slap a shoe or a small terrier and some colors on it, and you’ve got yourself a hilarious game in which you strive to push your friends into bankruptcy.

Let’s go through this.

The point of the game is to buy property while every now and then crossing an ambiguous place called “go” to sustain a bank account (pssst: in the real world it’s called “paycheck every two weeks”). The larger goal is to “monopolize” the board. To literally buy everything and charge anyone for going near it. From time to time you go to jail (which oddly just sorta flies under the radar, I mean..who’s like “Whoops! Carl went to jail again, I sure hope he rolls doubles!”). Oh, and also? There’s a part of the board called “chance”, slightly indicating to children that from time to time things might go horribly wrong or great for no apparent reason. Oh, and once a friend gets poor? You become a maniacal, horrible person who sits and waits to literally charge the crap out of them for nothing.

This game apparently did nothing for my property owning and renting skills, as I still seem to be playing the board game in real life, except now I make the same horrible fiscal decisions but with real money:

Drew: “So the place comes with -398 sq feet, the bathroom is pretty much inside of the room, which, let’s be real Bob, we’ll just call it a room because the bedroom is a part of the ‘room’ i’ll be renting out. The stove doesn’t work. There is a Mexican coke dealer who lives next door, and my hallway looks like the scene from The Shinning with the two little girls.”

Landlord: “It’s about $1400 dollars and..”

Drew: “I’LL TAKE IT!”

The game takes 4,978 hours to play, is run by an adorable man with a silly monocle and most people die before they can even finish it or reap the benefits of their investments.

Just sayin’.

Battleship

Battleship is a game that lets people know how the world works if you were to ever go to war. Basically: fire missiles with blatant disregard as to who or where you are shooting them at, hope they hit something, and if they do continue to do so until someone dies a horrible death. If this game is correct, it takes approximately 3-5 ambiguous missiles to destroy ships.

So that’s cool.

Life

Life is probably the most wildly accurate of any game. Ready?

The game literally emulates life in the most depressing regard ever.

It’s tag line? It’s a game of twists and turns/Where will your choices take you? (I mean, Jesus.)

You go around a board and either get a good job or a bad job. If you go to college? You can make more money and eventually end up at a place called Millionaire Acres. If you don’t? You can actually go to a place called the poor farm (I mean, again..Jesus).

When you have children in the game, they are identified as a peg you throw in the back of your car. If you obtained a fifth child, you had to lay them sideways in your vehicle because that was the board game way of saying use a goddamn condom.

And there was a tile on the board that you could land on titled “Revenge.”

That shit’s real, kids.

Guess Who

During your childhood, you are taught to never talk to strangers. When you grow up, you learn that the entire goal of life is to talk to strangers until one of them eventually sleeps with you and you make babies with them.

Guess Who emulates for children the practice of going to a bar: you throw out random attributes that someone may or may not have. When you eventually get close enough to guessing what you’re looking for, you win.

Fairly accurate.

Operation

When you grow up, you may want to go into the field of medicine. When you do, if you want to make the big bucks, you should look into being a surgeon (or a lawyer, Mom, I know…I KNOW).

If you do become a surgeon, this game is really going to f*%king pay off.

Essentially, just try to open someone up and do not hit the ambiguous “sides”. Make sure to use tweezers to remove the bad things. If you do this successfully, you make a shit ton of money. If you don’t, their nose will illuminate. That or the red light that signifies their heart has stopped beating.

I was bad at this game. Sorry, Jewish family.

Clue

Clue was pretty amazing. A big no-no in life is killing people, in general. A big yes-yes in life is pointing the finger at people and blaming them without much real reasoning or backing: just have a vague idea that they were the one that did “it” (‘it” being anything, really) and throw the book at them (turns out the legal system is pretty close to the game Clue, which is in no way terrifying).

The best part about Clue is that they didn’t just let children know that people are probably going to kill people when they grow up, they let them know that they are presumably going to do it in some of the most f*%ked up ways possible.

For instance, one day you may be trapped in a place where an attractive woman will either have a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that she will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench. When people aren’t looking, she is going to kill you. Good luck.

So, you know. Don’t kill people. But if you are ever in a situation where someone has a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that they will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench? It’s best to at least know what room they are going to do it in.

At least then you’ll win.

Sorry

Sorry is, without question, my favorite board game. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of real life going on here. But ohhhhh that’s where you’re wrong.

The whole point of Sorry is to just get home. That’s it. You just want to get your people home. Which, metaphorically, seems sort of heartwarming.

But here’s the catch:

Do not EVER turn your back, kids, because some fucker is going to come out of nowhere and he/she is going to ruin your goddamn day and completely stab you in the back. To make matters worse, they are required to say, “sorry” when they do.

But. I mean.

At least they’ll say sorry.

It’s the little things, I guess.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 53: In Retrospect, Board Games Are Sorta F*%ked Up

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Play Jenga. It’s really anticlimactic when you play yourself.

Go to a farmer’s market on a Sunday. Seriously, go without a cute girl. “Yeah, just pickin’ up my organic blueberries. You, uh…you come to this…stand…often?” It’s like a really, really refined creepy.

Pronounce words like acai, or have any idea what that is. For some reason, girls just know these things. Like they grew up, got a “smell amazing” kit and learned how to pronounce fruits with strange accent marks in their spelling.

Figure out if it’s “it’s” or “its” in that one sentence you just wrote. Because everyone has their grammatical achilles heel. And couches don’t know the difference when you ask. Also, see what I did there? I hope so.

Watch Sex and the City. Yeah. I think it’s a good show. And when you own these DVD’s and you’re a male living alone, a lot of questions start coming into play. A lot. And I dare you to watch it on Netflix. Oh, I dare you. Just pray that it doesn’t make suggestions for you after that. “That’s so weird that Netflix recommends other shows about women that only women would watch, I usually only watch action films where things explode and people die. Strange.” (FUCK YOU, JUDGMENTAL GUY. DID YOU KNOW THAT ROGER STERLING FROM MAD MEN WAS ON IT? YEAH. HE WAS. AND HE WAS GREAT.) (OH, AND I REALLY LIKE THE CHARACTER STEVE. HE IS A NICE PERSON.)

Fart on accident. Because your television doesn’t care when you do. And that first time that you do around someone you’re dating is always sorta funny: turns out both of you have a butt.

Rationalize going to Bed Bath and Beyond on a sunday to buy throw pillows. To be fair…they really brought the apartment together. 

See if your bald spot is growing. For some reason, taking a picture of the top of your head is wildly depressing. Especially when you forget to delete it and then someone looks through your phone and finds pictures of the top of your head…that you took. That’s worse than like, midget porn.

Stay in. For some reason, the only rational reasons for staying in on a Friday or Saturday night are: you’re dying, you’re working, you’re working while dying, or you’re in a relationship.

Argue with a girlfriend. Which, face it…though sort of miserable sometimes, there’s always the fun part where you pretend nothing was ever wrong and then you think she smells of cinnamon again and you want to buy a dog named Bob with her, because wouldn’t it be funny if you got a dog and gave it a human name? “You hungry, Bob?” Just sorta sounds like some dude who lives at your house.

Wear a scarf. Because if you wear a scarf and no one likes it, I just assume you can say that “fill in the blank name of my future girlfriend” liked it, so I wore it for her. And then casually take it off when no one is really looking.

Wear hilarious two person costumes on halloween that require a male and a female. Can you do this with a friend? Sure. But…look. I was Cookie and Gerry Fleck with a girl one year. And let’s just say the “in character” shots and prep of it were enough to wife someone up. Because someone who’s willing to publicly embarrass themselves for you and be completely and totally blind to the fact that it’s happening in the process? That’s love.

Watch Disney movies that you know the lyrics to…and sing them. You know what? No. Forget that. If you can’t accept that I like the song Under the Sea, you’re a bad person and I will treat you like a pedophile: please stay at least 1,000 feet away from me.

Tie a tie. Because I still don’t know how to do that. And I will look forward to the day that I can go to big boy events because my girlfriend teaches me how to do this in the mirror. So that I can not comprehend it. But at least it’ll be endearing.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 52: It’s Okay For Guys To Watch Sex and the City Because The Word “Sex” Is In The Title.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

13 Year Old: “What’s a pager?”

Me: “Oh. It was this device that I wore on my pants. My friends would call a number that would sound like an answering machine. And when they did, they’d enter in a number for me to call them at. It’s like, someone saying…’hey, call me.’ It was like…analog texting.”

13 yo: “What does analog mean?”

Me: “I don’t know. Not fancy.”

13 yo: “What’s an answering machine?”

Me: “There used to be machines. That literally picked up the phone and recorded things when you weren’t home. Like a..”

13 yo: “Why wouldn’t you just text them?”

Me: “Oh, we used to not actually like, have cell phones. So texting didn’t exist. People would just go outside. And hang out with other people. You had to, you couldn’t just text and shit.”

13 yo: “So instead you wore something in your pants that couldn’t make phone calls?”

Me: “Don’t say it like that.”

13 yo: “Why, you wore a robot in your pants. I’m just saying what you said.”

Me: “It wasn’t a robot.”

13 yo: “It sounds like a retarded robot.”

Me: “You’re a retarded robot.”

13 yo: “I don’t get what that means.”

Me: “That’s because you’re young and don’t understand dry wit.”

13 yo: “I don’t get what that means either.”

Me: “See?”

13 yo: “But I still don’t get a pager. Why wouldn’t you just call people?”

Me: “Because we would be out and wouldn’t have phones. So, friends could page you. And you’d call them from like, a pay phone or whatever. And you could write things in “pager code”. Like 07734 was hello. And 143 meant I love you…which, in retrospect, is a bit aggressive for a 13 year old. Don’t tell anyone you love them yet, you don’t. Christ, I sound depressing.”

13 yo: “What’s a pay phone?”

Me: “They used to have phones all over the place that you could call people on. You’d put money in it. Didn’t your generation see The Matrix yet?”

13 yo: “What’s The Matrix?”

Me: “Jesus.”

13 yo: “Nobody calls anyone. Why don’t you just write them on Facebook or tweet at them.”

Me: “We didn’t have Twitter or Facebook then. You had to meet people. Like, for real. And wait, why do you have a Facebook account? Or a Twitter account? You’re too young for that shit. And wait, do you read my stuff? Don’t take that stuff seriously.”

13 yo: “Why wouldn’t I have Facebook and Twitter. And yeah, I’ve read your stuff. You swear a lot. If you didn’t have Facebook or Twitter how did you know if you liked a girl?”

Me: “Oh, we talked to her. She’d tell us about things. Like, interests. And then I’d tell her things. Like, interests.”

13 yo: “That sounds exhausting.”

Me: “How do you know the word exhausting?”

13 yo: “I’m 13. Are you serious?”

Me: “Just seems like a big word. You’re very little. Like, physically. So I just figured you wouldn’t know that word.”

13 yo: “That makes no sense.”

Me: “You make no sense.”

13 yo: “Every one of your jokes just seems to be you saying what I just said back to me.”

Me: “I know. Because it’s hilarious. What are you looking at?”

13 yo: “Instagram.”

Me: “Unreal that you know what that is.”

13 yo: “My friend just posted a picture. She’s hot. I liked it.”

Me: “I’m worried for your generation. You guys are gonna just stop talking altogether. Like, little ‘like’ buttons just walking around. BOOP! I ‘like’ you.”

13 yo: “You have a blog.”

Me: “What does that have to do with anything?”

13 yo: “You’re worse than me. Have you seen your blog?”

Me: “We’re not talking about me.”

13 yo: “I am.”

Me: “I miss when you were dumb and just listened to anything I said.”

13 yo: “I miss when you thought I didn’t understand sarcasm.”

(FIVE DAYS LATER)

13 yo: “Hey. I saw The Matrix. It sucked.”

—

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 51: Songs To Say 143 To

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

My alarm clock goes off. Presumably on my iPhone 4, because it’s very important to me that I own the latest technology. I hit snooze. I can’t believe I have to get up by 9 a.m. to make it to my place of work before 10 a.m. where I am paid to be creative and knowledgeable about “the internet,” just in general.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I casually thumb through emails I’ve received since going to bed. I should have received something from Groupon, Livingsocial, Scoutmob and Gilt Groupe if I’m really late for work.

I take a shower. While doing so, I begin to wonder why I’m so bad at saving money. I then use my Bumble & Bumble shampoo and follow up with Kiehl’s face wash. I get out of the shower.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I check-in to my apartment on Foursquare, which I’ve named something cute and clever because for some reason I think people actually care what I call my apartment on a mobile application named after a children’s playground game. They don’t. I just wanted the mayorship, let’s be honest.

When I am getting ready, I decide between my Salvation Army/Buffalo Exchange purchased t-shirt that I’m so proud of (because it features the name of some business I’ve never heard of, yet it also has a great “worn a lot” consistency that I yearn for) and my J. Crew oxford. In no way do I find this ironic for some reason.

Before leaving, I peer out of the one window in my outlandishly priced studio apartment, whose price i’m okay with as it’s “just how San Francisco prices are” to see how the weather is. It is sunny, but I also know this means that it’s probably 52 degrees with a wind chill of “you’re freezing, why the fuck didn’t you wear a coat.” I do not bring a coat, as though trying to prove to the weather that I’m above it’s crafty trickery. I will regret this later.

Before I go, I pack my black rimmed Ray-Ban eyeglasses and put on my Ray-Ban sunglasses. I then pack my Macbook Pro, iPad, iPhone and Kindle into my Chrome messenger bag. The Timbuk2 bag is too small and makes my collarbone hurt because I didn’t splurge for the shoulder guard. These are things that I’m actually concerned about.

I walk to the Bart station, which is about 3 blocks from my house.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I check-in to BART on Foursquare, because everyone needs to know that I’m about to take public transportation. Which is kind of like the equivalent to doing something mundane, like taking a sip of a drink and telling everyone about it. Actually? I’ll probably check into somewhere for this reason later. To be fair: I’ve heard if you check into BART 10 times you get the “Trainspotter” badge. I don’t know why this is important to me. But it is. I need that badge.

I see someone doing something weird on BART. Probably a homeless guy or a drug addict or something, which are usually mutually exclusive. I’ll probably tweet about that. I can’t now: no service. But I’ll remember to when I get off at my stop. I bet people would love to read a humorous anecdote like that, maybe it will make their bad morning a little funnier or something.

I forget to tweet that, but forget that I forgot that.

I think about how it must suck to be homeless, because I really love not being homeless.

Around the Powell stop, I begin to play Angry Birds. I can’t beat one level, and it’s driving me nuts. Ultimately, I’d settle for one star. That’s how bad this one has gotten.

I think about grabbing a Peet’s Coffee before I walk to work. I realize it’s like 2 bucks, and I totally lost my mayorship to that guy and I’m way behind now, anyway, so forget it. Plus, for the same price I could get a pretentious cup of Four Barrel at the place next door to my office. That’s way more logical than the unlimited, free coffee at my place of work.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I get to work. I have a bowl of organic cereal with organic milk. A few people ask me if I’m hungover. For some reason in my profession, being drunk almost all of the time is hilarious and oddly endearing. It’s part of being “creative.” To be fair, it’s a fair question: odds are I’m hungover the majority of the time.

I go to my desk. I check a few websites that tell me about the things I need to know, in order of importance:

1) Has a celebrity died or cheated on their spouse?

2) Has a celebrity twitter account been “hacked” and were all the pictures of them naked “stolen”?

3) Is there a new viral video I should be talking about?

4) Is there a new band I should have heard about?

5) Check Twitter.

6) Check Facebook.

7) Wait, check Twitter again. Yep, I’m gonna re-tweet that joke that guy said.

8 ) Wait, now has a celebrity died or cheated on their spouse?

After I’ve checked the important stuff, I do some work.

I go to the kitchen to see if anyone is there to talk about any viral videos we’ve seen. Maybe we’ll even discuss an old film we liked. Like The Mighty Ducks. I loved The Mighty Ducks. Did you love The Mighty Ducks? We talk about how Muni is terrible. Because it is. Muni is terrible.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I do some more work. I attend meetings. They seem really long. Someone says something funny, though, so it’s okay.

On a conference call, someone we’re talking to says a buzz-word like “synergy.” We put it on mute and make fun of them.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I get lunch at some place that is overpriced. I check in to their establishment on Foursquare.

When I return to work, I will sign up for a social networking site that is new. It will involve:

1) Taking artsy pictures and sharing them with people.

2) Telling people about the music I’m listening to.

3) Telling people what I’m doing, right now, this instant, right now, this instant, no seriously, right now.

4) Telling people what I’ve eaten.

5) Doing all four of these things at once while then distrubuting this to Twitter, Facebook and Foursquare.

It’s probably a site made by a guy who knows a guy that I know. I’ll be jealous that he was smart enough to make this. I will presumably use said new social network about 14 times and then I will never use it again. But I’ll be able to let people know that, yeah, I’ve used that. I found it hard to get into.

I’ll Google something weird. I’ll wonder why so many other people are Googling that. I’ll know, because when I entered it into Google, it finished my sentence. People are funny. Wait, now I’m creeped out by how smart Google is.

I’ll think about the movie Terminator and wonder if we’re actually going to be overthrown by robots. Then I’ll realize that’s silly. Then I’ll Google “world overthrown by robots: possible?”

I’ll do a little more work. I will send emails. I will read a pdf or two.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I will go home and be annoyed that Muni is so inefficient. I’ll tweet that, but in a funny way that is both relatable and honest.

Why didn’t I wear my f*#%ing coat?

On my walk home, I’ll consider buying a bottle of wine for when I’ll be writing ideas for work later. I’ll just have one glass.

I’ll look at Sutro Tower. I’ll feel lucky to be paying too much money for a very small apartment, because San Francisco is worth it in these tiny little moments.

I get home and call a few friends. We talk about how we want to travel. We’ll probably have a few locations in our back pockets that no one would see coming. We’re so interesting.

I’ll go out for a drink with a friend at a dive bar. It will probably ironically have very expensive beers. That will seem off, but I’ll just go with it.

I will read up on the news just in case anyone ever asks if I know about the world. It will go like this:

1) A country is at war, and I don’t know anything about that country. Wait, shit, that’s just a city. I thought that was a country? Wow. That’s a bummer on a lot of levels.

2) Something is on fire in San Francisco somewhere.

3) Baby pandas are adorable! Oh my god, why haven’t I ever been to see the pandas?

4) Blah blah blah Kate and William blah blah blah.

5) A large financial corporation did something shady, and they are having a confusing trial about it.

I watch an independent film that I heard about, it’s supposed to be really good.

I will have a second glass of wine . Shoulda seen that one coming.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

My alarm clock goes off. Presumably on my iPhone 4. I hit snooze…

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 48: Music For A Day In The Life Of The Modern San Franciscan

Stream the whole thing at that link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I have always loved road trips. I suppose it’s because I equate them with that first time I was given a retarded amount of freedom in my life. Basically, you learn to drive a motor vehicle when you’re a kid, and all of the sudden you think it’s a good idea to go drive it until your foot hurts. It’s not like a plane, where you go in a box, close the box, and then open the box to find out everything looks different: road trips are like watching America as a flip book. It’s like you start the car, Bob Ross starts painting, and hours later you’re in a forest with little happy trees and fluffy clouds and you’re flabbergasted at how awesome it was to watch them appear.

When you go on a road trip across America for one month straight with three other people you barely knew beforehand, you think of (and see and experience) a lot of really weird crap. In no particular order or sequence, this is what I found out about myself and the country.

1) Everyone in America thinks that Los Angeles and San Francisco are just two guys hanging out next door to each other geographically. Everyone. Dear America, Los Angeles is nowhere near San Francisco. And not to sound like Jan Brady, but stop talking about Marcia: we’re our own goddamn person. No, I don’t just bump into celebrities all the time. I don’t see famous people everywhere I go. Hey, Ohio, do you see African tribal people when you go out to dinner? Oh, you don’t because you live nowhere near Africa? Please look at a map. They are at the heel of the tube sock and we are almost at the top of the knee-high. Please.

2) To prove why I’m an asshole for that diatribe: I have no concept of the geographic makeup of any other city and it turns out I’ve been making gigantic sweeping generalizations my entire life. We’re in Philadelphia? WHY ISN’T EVERYONE EATING CHEESESTEAK! We’re staying in Austin tonight? LET’S GO TO A RODEO IN GALVASTON TOMORROW AT 9 A.M., I PRESUME THAT’S A SHORT DRIVE AND ALL YOU GUYS DO IS GO TO RODEOS! So, uh. Sorry about that, America.

3) You can drink for 30 straight days and you won’t die.

4) If you drink for 30 straight days you will feel terrible and will begin to wish you would just die already.

5) Subway and Starbucks are in a heated battle for who can lay claim to the title “Company that owns 1 in every 3 buildings in all of America.” How is there even this much deli meat?!? Are your distributors exhausted getting it to you every day? Do people really need anything other than “just a really strong fucking cup of coffee” in the middle of nowhere, USA, or are truck drivers honestly purchasing a venti non-fat cafe au lait? Here’s a tip: stop opening stores. Just stop. I can’t eat that many sandwiches or drink that many cups of coffee.

6) There are people in Texas that actually want the state of Texas to secede from the union, and they are purchasing actual billboards and maintaining actual websites to make it happen. Which is to say, it seems like they found out we actually hired a black guy as our president and they just freaked out and started smearing their ex girlfriend on national bathroom stall walls. Guys: she was just a bit over how you were acting like a crazy person. What you’re doing isn’t helping. She’s dating nicer people now, don’t be that guy. But on that note…

7) 99.8% of Texas gets a bad rep. It turns out that contrary to popular belief, it’s mostly just full of fantastically kind people who say “yes ma’am” and “sir”. Sweeping generalization after spending five days in a state? Oh, absolutely. But besides the crazy “WE WOHNT ARRRR OWNNN NA-SHUN” people who make billboards, I came away feeling like a real dick for ever saying I didn’t like Texas. Forgive me, Texas. I kinda love you.

8 ) In the most unsurprising news ever, I want to move to Austin, Texas. I know. Next thing you know, I’ll tell you that I hear Portland is nice and that I’ve been thinking about buying a record player. Okay, enough about Texas. Wait but I’m not done with the south.

9) A good portion of the south has no idea that the civil war is over, and/or that the north won. I say this because I went to a reenactment in the south, and let’s just say they told us to “come back tomorrow to find out what happens.” Spoiler alert, guys: it ends.

10) Louisiana proves the theory that you can fry anything and it tastes better, and that if you speak with a southern accent and smile everyone on the planet will like you. How the women stay that good looking blows my mind.

11) If you want to die laughing, ask an Australian to say the word Pseudoephedrine (pseduo-epha-dreeeeeen). Or anything that ends with an “a” (because they put an “r” on it). Or ask them what a swimsuit is (a swimmer! they call them “your swimmers”!). Or just ask them to say oh my god sorry Australians, you just say the darndest things! I’m sorry in advance, Beth. I’m not making fun, I’m sure I sound ridiculous to you, as you told me many times. But really, you call mosquito bites mozzy bites and that just makes me giggle.

12) Forget nice hotels, stay at a Hampton Inn. I am on a one man mission to put that place on the map. EVERY ONE OF THEM has a waffle maker. A legitimate belgian waffle maker. C’MON. Their bed is made of asleep. It felt like trying to date a hotel room. Like, I was that into it. Doodling it’s name on notebooks in my dreams.

13) It is possible to not do laundry more than one time in 30 days. Which is going to save me about $4,239 in quarters this coming year, because I learned on this trip that yes, it is unhealthy to do your laundry every -2 minutes.

14) Everyone in America should begin to call sex “The Ultimate” and Coors Light “C Minus.” Because that’s what a guy on the road trip called both, and I just don’t think there is a better way to say either. Try it. It feels good.

15) I really enjoy jumping off of beds and even at the age of 29 want to imitate superheroes. Please see below, but I totally get why wrecking a hotel is fun now. It hurts the next day, but it’s really fun. Sorry, whoever cleaned that room.

16) People in America are really, really nice. I met maybe two people who were assholes on this trip. Two. And one of them was a cop, and he probably had a pretty good right to be, considering our car had marijuana on it’s person (sorry Mom, but who’s kidding, you probably saw that one coming and IT ACTUALLY WASN’T ME). But seriously: people are inherently just…good. And I know that sounds sappy, but I’m genuinely impressed with how wonderful people are if you let them be and feel like Scrooge. Which leads me to my big fear…

17) I’ve become an abnormally positive and optimistic person after this trip. It freaks the crap out of me, and it feels like the turning point in the movie that I didn’t see coming. I’m not sure I even know what to do with it yet, it’s like a puppy and I just stare at it and know that it’s cute. But.

18) Don’t worry. Deep down I’m still a snarky, sarcastic asshole that throws boulders from an incredibly sensitive glass house and then wonders why the windows are broken. That’s never going to change.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 47: America, I love you and you’re not bringing me down.

Stream the whole thing at that link.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Driving across America with three people you barely know is fascinating.

It starts more or less like when you begin to date someone. People are careful about what they say. They are cautious about when they even open the window. You make sure these people think you’re exactly what you wanted them to think you were. And then, like magic…

You start making weird noises at each other, laughing uncontrollably at things that aren’t funny, and you play the same 20 songs over and over again because it starts to sound like “you guys.” And for some reason, that’s cathartic and comforting.

I can’t write much more while I’m on this trip. But I figured it’d be really interesting to catalog the songs that you listen to with four strangers that start to feel like family. Because they sound like “them” to me.

I’ll write more again when I’m back to San Francisco in a few weeks. Until then, here’s what four strangers in a car listen to.

About 4,389 times a day.

And as if I haven’t blabbed it out enough, here’s the first half of our trip. They even let me write and say the words.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 46: Songs That Sound Good When Only Four People Listen To Them.

Stream the whole thing at that link.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

My favorite TV shows have always been iterations of The Real World or Road Rules.

The draw was always simple: it always seemed too good to be true.

The Real World was basically pretty cool until you grew up and actually experienced the real world. It’s great to imagine that when I was to turn 18, I’d live in a W Hotel suite and my roommates would all be fascinatingly attractive people who were either gay, black, or white but with an open mind. Turns out if they aired a real episode of The Real World, you’d see one guy in a Holiday Inn kinda bummed that no one told him to major in anything but “communications.” They did get one part of The Real World right, though: everyone is, for the most part, usually drunk, in a fight with a significant other because it turns out they’re attracted to the 98% of the world they didn’t meet in High School, and feel like their life is a soap opera people want to watch.

Road Rules was always the clincher for me. For some reason, the idea of living in a car has been some odd idealist dream for me. Sure, it’s odd that my dream was to be a hobo, but there’s something about the idea of never growing up and putting your apartment in drive when you wake up that’s oddly fascinating. Everyone wants their life to be a car that just moves on when they’re bored: turns out the real world doesn’t really accommodate that with that “bills” shit. But this is where Road Rules was amazing: you take the concept of The Real World and apply it to the Narnia “what if my life was just one big perpetual road trip” mentality. That and I was in love with Kit from the first season.

A few months ago, my boss asked me if I’d like to be a hobo for a month. For work. With three other outrageously interesting people. And if I’d like to write about it in the process and/or be the coffee bitch. And I think I thought it was a joke.

But. Turns out it wasn’t.

So hey. Guess what. It’s like high school Drew got to dictate his late 20′s life and is getting an opportunity to be in a bizarro season of Road Rules. Starting Saturday, I’m getting the opportunity to lug an airstream trailer across America to talk to people and take pictures with them. It’s still unclear to me if my boss is a unicorn and whether or not I was on mescaline (or still am) when he proposed such shenanigans, but I guess the mescaline trip starts on Saturday and ends in June sometime.

The cast is as follows.

An Australian I haven’t met yet who’s really nice on the phone. A director who’s very hip that every woman on the planet is attracted to and a guy who everyone at work calls “the beast.” Basically…I’m not sure this is real life yet.

But i’ll let you know the details once I’m off.

I’m about to drive across America in a f%*king airstream trailer. I think this is the equivalent to checking the “I want to be a fireman” box when I grow up and someone saying, “how about an astronaut instead?”

And being an astronaut sounds pretty nifty.

Don’t ever let me complain about anything ever again.

(spoiler alert: I will.)

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 45: If life is Jeopardy, I just selected “Shut the f*%k up” For One Billion.

Stream the whole thing at the link up top.

Or.

Download the whole thing in little mp3′s right here.

So the other day I was explaining to my friend Lesley the mating habits of the angler fish.

You know, the one with the light over it’s head. Finding Nemo. Teeth that look like an 8 year old’s nightmare made them up.

Anyway. I was telling her that the male (who doesn’t get the lightbulb thing over it’s head, which seems like a major letdown for male angler fish) goes up to the female, bites it’s side and once it does, the female secretes acid that melts the male angler fish’s face to the side of it’s body. From here on out, the female will use the man fish she just melted into her side as a means of getting herself pregnant whenever she feels like it.

I got this knowledge from a coffee table book that is based on a blog that I read on the internet called The Oatmeal. Don’t worry, until now I didn’t fact check this at all and just went by the rule that anything anyone says on the internet is true. (it’s true. wikipedia says so.)

And it’s in the middle of casual Sunday conversations like these that I realize i’m not normal.

This is what i’ve been thinking about this past week.

1. A guy at a bar a few weeks back told me that he’s, “not afraid to to punch a guy with glasses.” First of all: I’m pretty sure that’s awesome and I thought people only said stuff like this in teen comedies. Second of all, he looked exactly like Kenny Powers and continuously ran up to my friend and I doing a horrible rendition of the sprinkler while telling us he was going to (can’t make this up) “spray all over us.” Yes, seriously. So, all in all? Pretty amazing experience.

2. If you are over the age of 50 and you’re wearing a Hollister or Abercrombie & Fitch polo, you should stop that. I’m looking at you, guy in the gym locker room.

3. If you ever want to laugh really hard, just imagine a room full of black people watching an episode of Seinfeld or Friends next to a room full of white people watching Tyler Perry’s House of Payne, then having to meet afterwards to discuss their thoughts. How is this not a TV show? “Black People Watching White Things” or “White People Watching Black Things.” Hilarious both ways. (The reason I bring this up is the fact that I just witnessed my white co-worker trying to explain watching an episode of Tyler Perry’s House of Payne. It was “too good to be true” levels of funny.)

4. I would like to meet whoever it is who has the ability to buy every item I want on Gilt Groupe in a size medium or 11 shoe in approximately 8 seconds every morning at 9 am when the sale begins. How? HOW did you get to the site and order everything within 8 seconds? HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS? ARE YOU A WIZARD? DO YOU HAVE 14G TECHNOLOGY ON A WIRELESS NETWORK THAT DOESN’T EXIST YET?

5. If you are in a crowded public place, and you yell out “Beverly Hills”…I bet someone would yell back “what a thrill!” And I think that would be amazing. If they yell back, “it’s cookie time”? Just as good.

6. I work down the street from a place named Bayside Market, and every time I walk in I imagine guitar riffs and cutscene music from Saved By The Bell. Because it’s really funny in my head.

7. What is it with people and getting off the airplane? If people from another planet were to come here and witness the spectacle people make about getting off a plane, they’d probably just assume that the last person off the plane is ravenously murdered by a pack of wild tigers. There is no other logical explanation for why people act this psychotic. I get it, you need to go stand outside 3 minutes before I do. I mean, I’m fine with that.

8. You’re not allowed to be called freecreditreport.com when you are not free. Because you cost money after a month. You’re fibbing. And you’re also really hard to unsubscribe from. Change your name to creditreportthatcostsmoneyandishardtounsubscribefrom.com. I mean, might be a little long. But I like playing the “I’m not a liar” game. It’s a hoot.

9. I think it’d be really funny if they made a facebook for bro’s called Brobook. And all it had were wall posts like this.

“Sup bro.”

“I’m faded, bro.”

“Sick, bro.”

“I’m out, bro.”

And that was it. I don’t know why I think this would be so funny. I just do.

10. I drink an overpriced kombucha beverage every day named “Synergy”, and it makes me furious they haven’t made a run at advertising directly to advertisers. It’s like a marketers wet dream.

- It’s made with low-hanging fruit. (hey o!)

- Next steps after drinking it? Just livin’, man. (hey o!)

- I mean c’mon it’s called synergy.

11. I honestly believe the meeting when writers were pitching the plot of Teen Wolf to movie producers had to be the best meeting of all time.

Writer: “So he’s this teen. And he’s kinda not that cool. But then he realizes, he totally becomes a wolf sometimes. And when he does? He’s amazing at basketball. He doesn’t actually follow any rules or regulations, but he’s a werewolf so the refs don’t care. It’s early, but we can totally see Michael J. Fox being into this.

Studio Exec: “I mean, how do we fast track this thing? I’ve been dying to make a modern teen werewolf movie where the lead has to deal with the real issues of being a werewolf. You know? Not dancing around it.”

Sidenote: I still believe Teen Wolf is one of the best films of all time.

12. I know they say that if you have gastric bypass surgery that it works all the time because you literally can’t eat more than a few peanuts because that’s literally all your stomach would hold…but couldn’t you just drink milkshakes? Why doesn’t anyone talk about this? Am I the only one who thought of this work around? Am I hired, Mayo Clinic?

13. I am crazy for composting. I don’t know what i’m doing half the time, and I don’t know when these shenanigans started, but every time I throw stuff away it’s like a party finding out what I can compost. Is this a white person thing? A San Francisco thing? You win, Captain Planet. You win.

14. I find it absolutely hilarious lately to use non-swear words and phrases when I get upset like “shut the front door” and “boob.” Because there is nothing funnier than calling someone a boob. Nothing.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 44: It’s Always Funny To Call Someone A Boob.

Stream the whole thing at the link up top.

Or.

Download the whole thing in little mp3′s right here.