Dave Daly

Reed, Portland State, every place with a cafeteria in three states

stunt writer, hunger artist

I even seceded from Cascadia, that's how bad it is.

flipping coins looking for answers, relentless objectification

Eh, books? Wha?

Being There

anything that wouldn't make plants die, but some of that stuff too

marching band competitions on cable, The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, Battlestar Galactica, cartoons

Gemini

I move around, I go through phases, my stories are pretty much better than anyone's and I don't care if you disagree, its just not my decision to make.

Also, I've discovered the mechanism by which stress makes me include lots of typos in important letters. If you receive a letter or email from me including some really disgusting spelling problems, it usually means that you've done something interesting to my brain's ability to survive the letter-writing process, or I like you enough as to be so impatient to quickly send a message, or because I don't like you enough to even read what I just wrote you.

Anyway. Typos bother me. They completely change the meaning of what I'm trying to say.

What else. Oh. My friendster blog is just some crap reposted from my Livejournal. Not a big deal.

Almost anyone. Mostly I'd like to meet people I've alienated years ago, or new people with whom to make those old people obsolete. I wish I could find those thousands of people I used to know before I ate all those live babies during half time at the Super Bowl. Hard to mingle after that one.