Hello,

A couple years ago, I met a cute guy on the subway late at night and we traded iPods for the ride home. We didn’t even really talk, but his tunes sang to my twee phase, so I gave him my number. This was the song he played me:

We went on a date later that week at a restaurant I couldn’t afford in Boston’s South End. After about 20 minutes of listening to him gloat about his chef job and other superficial BS I couldn’t converse with, it was clear that his good looks and our musical compatibility was not going to be enough to get us through this dinner.

So instead of smiling and nodding through a free dinner, I did what most people would not; I started telling him all kinds of extremely personal stories.

I found it entertaining to watch someone get so uncomfortable with me talking about the most emotionally real moments in my life. I pried inside his Mr. cool-guy walls too and along with some nervous laughter I was able to get some semi-sentimental, stammering explanations out of him. I hope there to be a real person hiding inside of every douche bag. We cleaned our plates, split the check (dammit), shook hands, and said goodnight. I was certain from the 20 minute mark that this would be the last time I ever saw him, so whether I left him completely freaked out or a little more introspective, at least something real had happened.

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This story reminds me of part of a conversation I documented on an airplane (around the same time as the date) with a kid from Tennessee I also never saw again. My question was basically whether it was reckless to burden a specific uncomfortable situation with honest feelings or to just play it cool. I’ve thought of this thing he said so many times and never called him to say so. I’ll leave the digits in the doodle in case anybody wants to call and say hi. Let me know if it’s still in service.

Art walk party downtown last night. Me rockin' Rancid hoody. Will rockin' panda.

For a while after high school, I was too big of an 31337ist to admit that Rancid is my all time favorite band. I fell in love with their music and a dreamy skater boy named David in middle school, and 13 years later when I listen to their songs I still can’t get enough of what they’re doing.

Funny enough, David is also still one of my favorite friends.

When I was 14 and “Out Come The Wolves” came out, I listened to it so much that my older sister wouldn’t come in my room unless I changed it. Last year in San Francisco, I dusted off my pit moves when she told me she’d like nothing more than to see them with me in the Tenderloin, Tenderloin, Tenderloin (in San Francisco).

The show in the TL was was rivaled only by the awesomeness of their Boston show (at the now defunct Avalon Ballroom) with my long time Rancid-loving cohort, Demetri, in 2006. Here we are resting after starting an EPIC circle pit.

Everyone loves a good circle pit. Seeing Rancid always makes me feel like I’m 14 again.

Bathroom wall at Gilman St. Berkley, CA

They sing songs about stuff I’ve come to know in my own life, especially since moving to California. I find myself in locations that I’ve sang along to in their songs when I had no idea what I was even singing about. Yesterday, Rancid put out their final farewell album, “Let The Dominoes Fall.” I downloaded it (because I’m a jerk) and I’ve only heard a few of the cuts— but they’ve still got it. This song almost brings a little tear to my eye. I’ll love them forever. Nuff respect.

Going to China tomorrow for 2 weeks! I sure am gonna miss my little Ruby SoHo.