A new year, joey's poop and finding dates / Surprise V!
You know how a mom kangaroo keeps its young from pooping in its pouch? It takes the joey out and licks its butt so it poops outside the pouch. Actually true.
Anyways, now that I’ve got your attention, I’m Brian and I’m full of useless knowledge. Sadly, this trove of odd conversation starters (or enders) has never scored me a free pitcher or pint at a local trivia night.
I’ve had a manic start this year, so instead of getting all downer with you guys, I’d like to share a story that makes me giggle. Looking back, this tale technically could be considered my first foray into marketing!
"The Time Dazzle Got a Lot of Solicitous Phone Calls:"
It was about 3am on a school night, and I was living at 2209 Van Ness. A grand old dame of San Francisco’s “Gold Coast,” it was bought by the Academy of Art for student housing, which included myself. This was probably a low point in the poor domicile’s existence. There was total irreverence to the architectural value (truly beautiful) and much . . . what some could call “extra curricular revelry.” But I digress. It was my first semester, and between a general lack of motivation for any core curriculum and a healthy appetite for SF nightlife, I was still up applying gouache to an unfinished, un-matted portrait of my buddy Dazzle. Why Dazzle? I don’t know, he’s a cool dude and the picture I was basing it off of was over exposed so I didn’t have to work the contrast much.
Anyways, here I am, punch drunk (probably drunk), with a stack of posterized reference pictures, a black marker, and a penchant to delay the inevitable all-nighter. Now Dazzle had a thing for -ahem- ladies of a larger stature than his own shall we say? So I took it upon myself to find Dazzle a new date. And I was intentionally broadcasting for love, in all the wrong places. The marker took my hand to paper like a hawk to prey, furiously creating quips upon my reference materials. Here are some examples:
1.)“I’ve got an average size (crude drawing of genitalia) “-Pic- “For a decent time, call Dazzle at (415) ***-****”
2.)“Dazzle loves meatballs” –Pic- “Let him taste yours! (415) ***-****”
3.)“Need something to hold onto?” -Pic- “Dazzle’s here for you (415) ***-****”
4.) “Dazzle Loves Surprises” –Pic- “Call me (415) ***-****”
The rest escape me. The true joy was in the execution. Cue partner in crime Bo, who hit the streets with me post-portrait, allowing it time to fully dry. We must’ve had about 25 of these “flyers,” so to establish a mass distribution channel we decided the SF Muni would disseminate the message with greater efficacy. To the bus stops it was, to wait for the 43, slap Dazzle’s face on there, and run laughing like a little girl. It didn’t stop there. Public bathrooms, bus stops for the impatient to gawk, Subway®, etc.
Now jump a few hours to when I got a call from Dazzle. He was walking to class and wasn’t amused as he past, and futilely tried to rip down, every poster he saw. Poor Dazzle, he had no idea about our distribution channel, or that we entered any place that was open around 6am and plastered him in every bathroom stall.
Dazzle got phone calls for months from these antics, but no dates unfortunately. The voicemails were absurd though. Truly works of art.
He didn’t get a date, but I’m pleased to say that he’s now happily married.
So stop calling.
Best,
Brian
brian[AT]bvoynick.com
New Jersey
Anyways, now that I’ve got your attention, I’m Brian and I’m full of useless knowledge. Sadly, this trove of odd conversation starters (or enders) has never scored me a free pitcher or pint at a local trivia night.
I’ve had a manic start this year, so instead of getting all downer with you guys, I’d like to share a story that makes me giggle. Looking back, this tale technically could be considered my first foray into marketing!
"The Time Dazzle Got a Lot of Solicitous Phone Calls:"
It was about 3am on a school night, and I was living at 2209 Van Ness. A grand old dame of San Francisco’s “Gold Coast,” it was bought by the Academy of Art for student housing, which included myself. This was probably a low point in the poor domicile’s existence. There was total irreverence to the architectural value (truly beautiful) and much . . . what some could call “extra curricular revelry.” But I digress. It was my first semester, and between a general lack of motivation for any core curriculum and a healthy appetite for SF nightlife, I was still up applying gouache to an unfinished, un-matted portrait of my buddy Dazzle. Why Dazzle? I don’t know, he’s a cool dude and the picture I was basing it off of was over exposed so I didn’t have to work the contrast much.
Anyways, here I am, punch drunk (probably drunk), with a stack of posterized reference pictures, a black marker, and a penchant to delay the inevitable all-nighter. Now Dazzle had a thing for -ahem- ladies of a larger stature than his own shall we say? So I took it upon myself to find Dazzle a new date. And I was intentionally broadcasting for love, in all the wrong places. The marker took my hand to paper like a hawk to prey, furiously creating quips upon my reference materials. Here are some examples:
1.)“I’ve got an average size (crude drawing of genitalia) “-Pic- “For a decent time, call Dazzle at (415) ***-****”
2.)“Dazzle loves meatballs” –Pic- “Let him taste yours! (415) ***-****”
3.)“Need something to hold onto?” -Pic- “Dazzle’s here for you (415) ***-****”
4.) “Dazzle Loves Surprises” –Pic- “Call me (415) ***-****”
The rest escape me. The true joy was in the execution. Cue partner in crime Bo, who hit the streets with me post-portrait, allowing it time to fully dry. We must’ve had about 25 of these “flyers,” so to establish a mass distribution channel we decided the SF Muni would disseminate the message with greater efficacy. To the bus stops it was, to wait for the 43, slap Dazzle’s face on there, and run laughing like a little girl. It didn’t stop there. Public bathrooms, bus stops for the impatient to gawk, Subway®, etc.
Now jump a few hours to when I got a call from Dazzle. He was walking to class and wasn’t amused as he past, and futilely tried to rip down, every poster he saw. Poor Dazzle, he had no idea about our distribution channel, or that we entered any place that was open around 6am and plastered him in every bathroom stall.
Dazzle got phone calls for months from these antics, but no dates unfortunately. The voicemails were absurd though. Truly works of art.
He didn’t get a date, but I’m pleased to say that he’s now happily married.
So stop calling.
Best,
Brian
brian[AT]bvoynick.com
New Jersey
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