My First Open Mic in San Francisco

At the Brainwash Cafe on April 4, 2013. Hosted by Anthony Medina.

#JonBrock Live At StageWerx

Come see me perform comedy on Friday, April 27 at StageWerx in the Mission. Details below:

Why the Universe Is Frustrated With Me

© Jon Brock - 2013

I've slowly but surely weened myself off the terrible narcotic that is "online dating." No more OkCupid (too scientific); no more Adam4Adam (too nasty); no more Grindr (too stale); no more Craigslist (too...um, yeah). It's over! See ya! Later! Goodbye! (Although, I'm sure that I'll relapse at some point. It happens. I'm only human.) Without being "plugged in," so to speak, I'm left with (really) only one option: organic, face-to-face, human interaction.

Oh no! Run for the hills! Isn't there an app for all of this?! Get my phone! No! No! No!

It's throwback time, bitches! Time to go back to the days of generations past; the days when if you thought someone was cute, or funny, or desirable in some way, shape, or form, then you fucking approached the person and engaged him/her in a conversation. None of this "Looking?" or "Sup" bullshit. Whatever I may be looking for, I guarantee you that you're not going to satisfy that search with a shirtless photo of yourself, followed up by a photo of your cock and/or ass. Sure, I'll jerk off to it, but I could have easily done that without your (typically) unsolicited "explicitives." (Yes, I just made up a new term. Tell your friends.)

Right...where was I? Oh, yes: human interaction, and why the universe is frustrated with me. Now that I must resort to meeting people out in the real world, I've been putting my social skills to the test. The odds are forever against me, as I'm both shy and extremely introverted. Despite those menacing truths, one can only get better at socializing with each subsequent interaction. (That's what they call conventional wisdom.) Anyway, let's fast forward a bit...

The last guy that I was dating--we'll call him X--was playing host to his three friends from San Diego last weekend. It was nothing out of the ordinary; people have friends that visit all the time. But my sister (who lives in Los Angeles) was also in town that weekend for a work conference. As I do with all new visitors to this great city, I got a car and drove her straight to the top of Twin Peaks. You can see the entire city from that vantage point. That was something that I had done with X on a previous occasion. Naturally, I was surprised when, soon after arriving at our destination, I noticed X pull up with his three friends. We huddled up--it was cold and windy up there--and went through our introductions. As it turned out, X's three friends were attending the same conference as my sister. And they had even been to some of the same conferences in the past, but were not made aware of such until that moment.

So, here was this guy, X, whom I had much more connection to than I had previously known, and I couldn't help but think that the universe was just fucking with me. "(Finally), here's a good guy for you. And he's connected to you in these different, and good, ways. Go for it!" Maybe it all appears tenuous, but maybe it isn't so. Moving forward.

I needed my fix before work yesterday, so I went to Philz Coffee in the Castro. I placed my order and then went to pay for it, where a guy that was totally my type--can you guess that one?--rang me up. After giving him my debit card, this conversation occurred:

"You must be from Washington?"
"How would you have guessed that?"
"Because your card is from [credit union]."
"Oh, right!"
"I'm actually from there. A little town called 'Kent.'"
"No shit! I'm from Kent!"

And from there we proceeded to chat about where we specifically lived and went to school. It turns out that he lived just a few miles south of where I lived. So, again, what are the odds of me crossing paths with someone that was super cute and nice, grew up in the same damn town as me, and just happens to be gay and living in the same city as me now? These all can't be coincidences, can they? The problem was that I failed to act on an oft -late impulse to attempt to engage the other person again. I didn't say, "Hey, if you'd ever like to get together sometime and talk about growing up in Kent, give me a call," and then give him my number. Nope. Instead I did what I have always done: get awkward and run for the nearest emergency exit.

That was the universe, again, attempting to push me down the right path. But I fucked that one up, too. The moment in which it could have been completely organic, and not planned or contrived, has passed, and all because I failed to do what people did before the internet and smartphones. But failure isn't forever. One of these days I will stop missing all the pins that the universe sets up for me, and I'll finally get a strike.

Love Like A Balloon

My Love is like a balloon.

Wait. That's not enough to describe it.

My Love is like a balloon that has been, for whatever reason, let loose into the open sky. Let's say that I hold my Love in my hand. It's in the form of a balloon, and its connection to me is tenuous (it's held to my person only by means of a ribbon). At first, it's grounded; under control.

When someone special comes along I slowly begin to lose my grasp on the ribbon. I may let go of it quickly, or slowly, but eventually my grasp is not firm enough to hold onto my Love; my balloon. It sets off into the abyss of the open sky. What does it see? What does it experience? It rises quickly; perhaps too quickly, but Love is difficult to manage. It doesn't want to be managed. It runs rampant. It draws the "oohs!" and "ahhs!" of all that see it as it progresses, getting higher, and more intense.

But as it gets higher, more pressure is put upon it. The Love starts to experience its true test. What once was magical and mysterious quickly (almost instantly) comes to an end: the balloon implodes from too much pressure and falls swiftly to the unsuspecting earth below. No one ever sees it happen, but they know that it will; they know as soon as they see that balloon escape my grasp. The problem is that my grip gets firmer with each balloon that escapes me.

As I write this, a red balloon floats past my view of the city landscape, keeping a consistent altitude. I think that person's Love will make it.

San Francisco City Hall: My First Time

Earlier this week I walked over to City Hall to pay my water bill. The building itself has much more grandeur than even the Washington State Capitol. However, I'm not interested in remarking on such things at this time. Instead, I'd like to point out the rather ominous feeling that overcame me when walking inside. Everyone knows the horrific event that happened within its walls: on November 27, 1978, Dan White snuck into the building through a basement window and murdered Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk.

I thought being on the ground floor was eerie enough, but I was wrong. The basement is far more upsetting. I couldn't stop thinking "Dan White was down here. He got in through a window, with a loaded gun and extra bullets, and he was on his way to murder two of his (former) coworkers, one of which was gay." I got out as soon as I could.

Adam4Adam Profiles

Sic throughout:

Not looking for anything serious but fun time will be great

Not into crazy scene!! no 420, bareback, leather and nasty stuff. I'm "normal" as human and you better too! have a face that I knw im not talking to an alien

And sorry to looking at your profile without leaving you a msg, thats becuz i am too shy to say a word~ smile~

Out going but stay indoor Confuse?? Lollll

Where do I even begin with this?

Deconstructing a Dream

Last night, as I slept, I was transported to an unspecified clothing store in Los Angeles. I was with the last guy that I had dated, Joey, and his friend, Jason. As I tried on clothes, I could sense the agitation that Joey was feeling as he waited for me to finish with whatever I was doing. No words were spoken by me, but he finally snapped. "Why are you even here? No one wants you here?" he shouted at me.

My mind put me there to seek reconciliation; to retrofit a bridge that, in all rights, doesn't even exist. The bridge was there one day, and gone the next; it left no trace. But reconciliation isn't always possible. Sometimes it's better to just accept what the circumstances are and move on with your life. "If you want to get something, it's fine. I'll pay for it," Jason told me. He clearly felt a bit bad for me, but he was still on the side of his friend in that moment. Why was I there? I shouldn't have gone to Los Angeles. It was time to go. I told him "no thank you" and then I woke up.

Writing Under the Influence

Mustaches are divine, to say the least. Well, that's not entirely true. Let me back up and say that mustaches are magical. Yes, that's better. They're magical. They enchant those that see them; they disgust those that see them. There's always been, and there always will be, two camps: those that find mustaches appealing, and those that find them appalling. It doesn't make any sense. How can anyone be pushed away, instinctively, by a bit of hair on someone's upper lip? Questions and answers.

I worked with a gingerized twink who, upon sizing up my facial experiment, decided that I would be referred to as “Mustache” from that point forward. “Hey Mustache! When are you going to shave that thing off? He would ask me; insult me. The joke was on him, as he never knew how much more attention I was getting from my fellow fags. Mustaches, apparently, are definitely not straight-acting.

Deconstructing the Word "Fit" in Gay Online Profiles

I'm fat. Scratch that. I used to be fat. I still consider myself fat, though. Once you're fat, you never ever think of yourself as anything other than that at most times. I'm flabby; I have a gut that droops over my belt. It's not pretty. Depending upon how straight I'm standing, you can hardly tell that that's the case. This is probably why people tell me that I'm thin. "Let me take my shirt off for you and then you can tell me that again."

So, let's just be honest, guys. When you say that you're looking for "fit" guys, what you really mean is that you're looking for skinny/slender/slim guys. The flabby need not apply. And I don't. It doesn't matter than I can get up right now and go for a ten mile run without much, if any, difficulty. Oh, I'm fit, but I'm not the fit that you want. I can think of one person that I know that can't walk more than two blocks without considering hailing a taxi; you would consider him "fit" because he's very skinny. All other qualities aside, if you were to put us next to each other and select the "fit" person, you would (probably) pick him.

Speak the truth: you want someone skinny. And I'm done.

Poetry In Motion

Imagine being the person that is just having the shittiest of days...and then you get on board this train.

Via Muni Diaries.

All Those Innocent, Weather-Worn GAP T-Shirts

Discovered on Broadway (near Jackson Square).

My Morning Commute

Yesterday was the first time that I saw rain in weeks. Strange. Other than that, my commutes over to San Francisco have always been pleasant, due in part to the fact that this is where it begins: Walnut Creek BART station.

My New Favorite Brewery: 21st Amendment

Not the BFOD IPA.

I no longer have the luxury of going into a bar and asking for a Manny's or Mac & Jack. (Oh, how I miss you both!) That being said, I have to find something new; something that will match or exceed the taste and quality of the aforementioned microbrews. And in doing so, I discovered a magnificent brewery in South Beach: 21st Amendment*.

I walked over there from work Thursday night, found a place at the bar, and ordered myself a Brew Free or Die Hard IPA. By their own admission, it's their top-selling beer, and I can see why that is. It's fucking delicious. After I polished that one off I merely ordered by pointing at whatever looked good around me at the bar. The gents that were sitting next to me had the beer pictured to the left. Unfortunately, I forget which brew it is. After the first beer I was starting to feel hungry. So I ordered a Reuben, and it was well worth the $11.95. Good beer, good food. (Fuck you, Ram.)

The best part is that while you can absolutely order from a huge list of specialty microbrews--they have a fucking wheat beer that is fermented again with watermelon!--these babies are available in cans in local stores around town. My only concern, thus far, is where in the hell I'm going to keep all my beer cold when I move in to my new place next week. (There's hardly any room in the refrigerator!)

I highly recommend you check it out; if not at the brewery itself, then pick up a six pack and go have fun at Mission Dolores Park.

*Named after the amendment to the U.S. Constitution that repealed Prohibition.

How They Hire Those Shirtless Boys to Open the Door for You at Hollister

Watch until the very end. Enjoy.

Via Towleroad.

Starstruck: Meeting Robin Williams

When I worked at Third Place Books in Lake Forest Park, Washington, I was lucky enough to be the only available cashier when Robin Williams--yes, the Robin Williams--walked up to buy some magazines. He was filming a scene for "The World's Greatest Dad," and he was on a short break. The scene that they filmed in our store is shown within the first five minutes or so of the film. It wasn't anything too exciting, except for, you know, fucking Robin Williams being in our bookstore!

Here's how my conversation with Robin Williams should have played out:

"Hi, there!"
"Hello."
"Just these for you today?"
"Yes, please."
"You know, I must say that your performance in Dead Poets Society was absolutely amazing."
"Well, thank you very much. I appreciate that."
"You are very welcome. And thank you!"
"Have a good day now."
"You too, Mr. Williams!"

(Note: Money would have been given, and change returned, but I didn't feel it important to necessarily include that in the dialogue. Get over it.)

Now, here's how my conversation actually played out:

"Hi!"
"Hello."
"I LOVED YOU IN PATCH ADAMS!"
"Oh, well, thank you."
"... "
"Have a good one."
"You too."

My coworkers all had the same response when I told them what happened: "PATCH ADAMS?! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?! WHAT ABOUT (insert any number of good Robin Williams movies, or any number of awful Robin Williams movies)?!

Baz Luhrmann's "The Great Gatsby"

This actually looks really good.

(Also, excellent choice for the background music: Jack White's cover of U2's "Love Is Blindness" from their 1991 album, Achtung Baby.)

Finally, A Song for Marathon Runners!

158 Days Later; Or, Part II

Twin Peaks and Sutro Tower (As Seen From Noe Valley)

Where was I? Oh yes, I traveled to San Francisco twice in 2011. I had a blast each time. Don't even get me started on how Cinco de Mayo went down. I don't think that I will ever top that night. Memories! Speaking of topping that night ...err... never mind. I digress. You know how people always share with everyone that they're going to move to (or live in) _____________ someday? Well, I started to tell people that I wanted to live in San Francisco someday. Did I have any plans to do it anytime soon? No. Most of the time people just say that they're going to move, and then they never do. They get comfortable; the risk can be too much for them. It's understandable.

I soon realized that my life was in decent enough order to put my words into action. I mean, why wait? In fact, what would I be waiting for, exactly, before I decided to move anywhere outside of Seattle? Fear of the unknown would be the major element holding me back. As I told several people, "if you wait for everything to be perfect, then it'll never happen." And it's true. I would still be in Seattle if I had decided to wait until I had a huge chunk of money saved, and until I secured a job and a place to stay. But that's not to say that I didn't have a plan.

My timing (with quitting) was perfect; the bookstore that I worked at for nearly three years was just beginning the process of hiring seasonal gift wrappers. I emailed the manager and inquired if I could apply. She sent me the available shifts, and I signed up for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The job didn't start until the day after Thanksgiving, and it went all the way through Christmas Eve. That extra money would definitely help me out. Of course, at that time I didn't yet know that I was going to move to San Francisco. I was merely covering my ass with bill payments and rent until I found that replacement job (that would never come to fruition). I would be valeting five days out of the week, and gift wrapping three days out of the week. As I recall, I only ever had one day off during the week, if that.

I was able to put away a good amount of cash during those four weeks. A few days prior to my last day at the bookstore, my manager approached me and asked if I would like to come back and back fill a bookseller position while one of his employees was out on medical leave. Honestly, he beat me to the punch, as I was going to ask him if I could stay on and help out wherever needed.

And that was my life for the next four months. The first week of January I started working at the bookstore as a bookseller on Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays; I valeted Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.

In an effort to cut costs as much as possible, I asked one of my fellow office coworkers if I could move into the spare bedroom that she and her girlfriend had in Queen Anne. They acquiesced, and I was supposed to move in at the end of January. However, I managed to talk one of my good friends into letting me stay at her place in Northgate. You really can't do any better than free. Although, there were some conditions: I would surrender my furniture, and agree not to cash out my IRA. (She cares about my financial future.) We definitely made some great memories in the three months that I lived there.

To be continued...

New Album by Animal Kingdom

One of my new friends (in Walnut Creek) introduced me to this amazing band from London. This is their first single from their newly released album, "The Looking Away."

The video is...um...unusual--I don't understand it--but the song is really good. "White Sparks" is my favorite track on the album. Check it out!

Perks of the Job (Location)

Beautiful view of San Francisco City Hall