i just found the receipt for my vasectomy in my jacket

they gave me a receipt lol

the whole thing cost me $25 in the form of a copay, by the way

here’s to health insurance i guess

I drove to San Francisco last night. Someone said it was the supermoon, or whatever, so I wandered around for a long time. I saw Coit Tower for the first time. It was way smaller than I thought . . . I guess that it’s on a big-ass hill disguises the fact that it’s like four stories tall. Well, I’ll tell you what: it overlooks Fisherman’s Wharf, and the Ferry Building, and the San Francisco Bay, and the Bay Bridge, and on and on, so it’s pretty OK as far as all that bullshit goes. . . .

When I first moved to Oakland, whenever that was, years ago now, I used to go to San Francisco every few days. I hung out with people I met on the internet . . . and ended up in strangers’ homes, meeting their stranger roommates and their stranger animals. I got invited to birthday parties and warehouse shows and into cars and onto roofs and across the Golden Gate Bridge to Stinson Beach, way the hell up there. I did acid in Golden Gate Park with my friend Danielle, which, lord, was one of the (sorry) Greatest Days of My Life. It was all real good for a while. And then I got bone-deep burned out on the whole thing, and felt like taking BART beneath the Bay was exhausting and time-consuming and expensive, and there was hardly anything over there I wanted to see anymore, having seen so much of it, and so I stopped going.

There was a time, or maybe several times, when I went months and months without ever stepping foot in San Francisco, even though I could see it across the water from Oakland and Berkeley and Albany. I think the longest I ever went was six months. I stopped liking the place is all. It smelled bad and it was full of assholes. It started to look like a different city altogether, now that it had been completely infested with rich tasteless psychopaths.

Well: I think I did more last night in San Francisco than I’d done since I first got here. I walked probably ten whole miles, looping around and around and seeing everything. There was hardly anyone out there. Sometimes there was no one at all. I thought, hell, all right.

The only bad thing that happened is that, turning off Market St., a homeless guy wrapped in a comforter tried to kiss me. He got an inch from my face, and would have gotten me if I hadn’t Matrix-dodged him. He even made that loud smacking lip noise in my ear. I kept on walking while he sort of loomed behind me. If he’d kept coming I guess I would have had to clock him. I’m glad it didn’t come to that because maybe he would have gone nuts and wailed on me big time. I kept on walking and, for god’s sake, here I am, and I can still brag to the world that I’ve never been unwillingly kissed by a homeless guy wrapped in a comforter.

I walked all the way back to the car in Little Italy and got in and drove over the Bay Bridge at 2 a.m. to get home. Whoa! Well hey, I finally had fun in that stupid city again.

whoa

PSYCHOMANIA rules. It has an incredible intro which I have written about a bunch of times because I still see it in my DREAMS, baby.

McCune and I have been seeing one disastrously terrible movie every week, and the other day I noticed he had a huge Psychomania on his leather jacket. And I thought, hell, I gotta get one of those.

So I found a cool dude selling smaller ones and I created a Storenvy account that in all likelihood I will never use again:

(lol)

. . . he was sold out though! I sent him an email asking if he had one hiding in his couch cushions or beneath his refrigerator or whatever, and he actually did find a stray one in his house! So bless his little heart, he shipped it right on over to me.

Anyway I got it yesterday. It is pure and beautiful. I put it on the lapel of my black denim jacket. It looks like this:

Dude!! I’m definitely going to be the coolest kid in school now. Yeah. Well probably not actually.

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk, and this cool dude I work with came in and quoted ‘Moby-Dick’ for some reason . . . I can’t remember the context. And I said, “Whoa baby! Hold up!” and reached into my bag and pulled out my copy.

He said a thing I was not expecting him to say, which was: “Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze!”

To which I replied: “. . . let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness!!!”

We were quoting, in a room full of other poor confused souls, that part in ‘Moby-Dick’ when Ishmael talks about squeezing whale sperm out of globules taken from a conquered whale:

Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers’ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

Dude, yes. That passage is so cute. He’s so happy he starts squeezing his shipmates’ hands in a big vat of sperm!!!! God that’s gross and beautiful. I honestly love it a lot.

And what’s nuts is that I had just finished the chapter the night before. It’s one of my favorite parts!!!!

This book, dude. Jesus Lord in Heaven, this book.