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FACEBOOK. Cat videos. Photos of brunch. Donald Motherfucking Trump.

I can sit here and pontificate about the details of my day — which I'm going to do in a minute — to the rapt enjoyment of some, the bitter scorn of others, many people's limp ambivalence, and all concerns in between. I suppose I'm tinkering with the edges of good taste, the minute ethics of media — as a scientist, really. Fluff, anarchy, call it what you will.

I just looked at the moon as I was driving across the Bay Bridge. I almost shit my pants.

Before that I listened to Leave My Blues At Home by the Allman Brothers for the first time in four or five years. Again, almost shit my pants.

Before that, I ate some curry at The Plant Cafe. There was a gay teenaged couple sitting next to me, and I felt so much better about the Marina.

Before that, I got a massage from Johnny at Marina Thai Massage. That motherfucker knows how to use his foot. I would Yelp him but I don't want his schedule to get all filled up.

Before that, I went to Baker Beach and did some Kundalini yoga exercises before getting naked and jumping into the Pacific Ocean. Was it cold? Yes, it was cold. It's the dead of winter.

Back in high school I was the Editor-In-Chief of our school newspaper (hence my penchant for m dashes). I only wanted to entertain cool people and make boring people angry. It worked, and I had to have regular meetings with the school principal so he could censor my columns. At one point, we got a new teacher in journalism class and I deeply hated her; I had a soft-boiled plan to sneak some LSD into her coffee one day, a la Grace Slick and Richard Nixon in the 1960s. I never did it. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.