Because It Can't Be Helped

I have to be in London for work this week which means that I have to ride on an airplane to get there which means, well, this.

I think it's worth noting that this web log post is being brought to you not by airport-grade Cabernet Sauvignon but by the darling mother of a dear friend of mine who recently said something so incredible that I nearly shat my running tights, which is: "Corey really likes to post pictures of himself on his blog. Sometimes he has Bevan in there, but mostly it's just him."

That feels right.

Also, hi Maureen! I miss you! Beers on me when you're in SF next, please?

Ten Miles and a Brunch

Around ten o'clock this morning Jason, Nikki, Steve and I set out from the Inner Sunset on a most spectacular ten-mile run that gifted us views of Golden Gate Park, the Pacific Ocean, the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and Crissy Field, then afterwards Bevs and Dan joined the four of us for brunch at the Presidio Social Club which is where I snapped the following photo.

P.S. Is it still considered a selfie if you can't manage to fit yourself into it?

Apparently Not Every Person in San Francisco Is a Gay Man

A vendor was walking me through the install of a new piece of equipment at my place of employment earlier this week and because of circumstances beyond my control the aforementioned equipment install had to take place in a small, closet-like room.

Paul the Vendor: Well, that should do it.

Me: Great! And again, I’m really sorry that you had to spend your morning in a closet.

Paul the Vendor (chuckling): That's okay. I'm no stranger to closets.

Me (raising my eyebrows and offering up an exaggerated and knowning nod in his direction): I hear that, Paul.

A moment passes.

Me: So, are you from San Francisco originally?

Paul the Vendor: No.

Me: Oh.

Paul the Vendor: My wife is though.

I think one important takeaway from my chat with Paul the Vendor might be that in some cultures closet actually means, like, a closet, as in a storage space for clothing or a terrible place to hide from masked serial killers in films directed by Wes Craven. A case can be made that closet doesn't always have to be a reference to, say, concealing your sexual identity from everyone you've ever met until your twenty-fourth birthday when you drunkenly slip the words "I'm gay." into a Gchat conversation with one of your childhood neighbors at 3:00am because he happens to be awake and online and also because he was already out so the odds of him calling you a faggot, logging off and never speaking to you again were relatively slim, for example. Sometimes a closet is just a tiny room to hang a coat up in.

Today Was Average

I worked late and then ate takeout mu-shu chicken in front of the TV and that pretty much sums up this day in my one and only precious life.

Oh, it might be worth noting, however, that I was on the receiving end of several screenshot-worthy text messages from friends and family members. The best ones that I feel comfortable sharing on this World Wide Web log without fear of incriminating any of my loved ones can be found below.

Except the last one.

My sister Kelly sent that one.