We broke up in April
as people do
and for all the right reasons
We bought a kitten about three months
before the end
She used to crawl onto our chests every morning
and give us kisses
I moved to Berkeley
and am living alone for the first time
For the most part
I love it
But of course the walls shout once in a while
and I picture awful things
which bite at my ego
I know she’s found someone else
already
It’s what people do
But when the stomach aches
and the imagination screams
It’s not her folded in the arms
of another man
that makes me see red
It’s the thought of
some guy on a sunny, Saturday morning
in bed with my fucking cat
Thursday, November 3, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one
I was sitting in the acme the other night alone and this guy who was way more drunk than i was sits down on the next stool and starts talking to me. Here’s what we talked about:
Guy: That’s a small notebook.
Yours truly: It IS a small notebook.
Guy: You got a cigarette?
(hand him a Winston light)
Guy: My great-grandfather died re-shingling a roof at ninety-three. He fell off.
Yours Truly: damn….
Guy: He was smoking a Winston when he fell off.
Yours Truly: Fuck. That’s tough.
Guy: Yeah and when I was five my grandfather took me aside and told me I was going to be the man of the house pretty soon. Then he threw himself in front of a mack truck.
Yours Truly: What’s a mack truck? Like a big-wheeler?
Guy: Yeah.
Yours Truly: Damn. How are you going to top that?
Guy: Top it?
Yours Truly: How are you going to top that? Die fighting a grizzly bear with a whiskey bottle or something?
Guy: I’ll don’t know. What are you writing about?
Yours Truly: Your fucking grandfather!
I’m in desperate need of a hair cut so I’ve been staying in a lot more lately. My big plan was to not write another blog until I finished the Portland trip, but seeing as how it’s been a month and I’ve still only written about the first day I’ve decided to throw it up in sections.
Portand Part One
Portland was Bennett showing up at my house smiling wide in a rented white convertible. Bennett is mad li po 2005. An alcoholic angel with one left arm, all cool, on the window (wrist hanging off outside of car) and Winston dangling out of his mouth. I hop in with a battered backpack and we’re off to pick up Dylan in south berkeley. Then it’s me leaning against the car, not flipping a coin over and over again with a toothpick in my mouth, but that kind of vibe as Bennett runs in to grab Dylan. Dylan is a handsome genius. A furry chested Galileo. We all jump in the ride and eye each other conspiratorially for a second before deciding that just this once – it’s OKAY to drink beer in the car. We’re off and the sun shines down on a white blur of content speeding north over the Richmond bridge. Dylan plays bartender in the back seat bringing forth drinks on command while we pass through the invisible line in marin that separates the bay and wine country. Watch as the digital temp gauge rises eight degrees just like clockwork. We stop off in cotati to show off our cherry ride to dangerous dave wiseman and pick up some maps. Somewhere past willits paper cups are laughable and pabst blue cans sit in cup holders where they belong when Bennett’s at the wheel. I’ve never seen the man without a drink and I’ve never seen him drunk and there’s no one I’d rather have at the wheel and he was never without wheel or drink the whole adventure and I think that’s the way his gods play it. Neither you nor your god is that awesome so don’t try drunk driving kids. He’s the exception to the rule and the type of soul the bloody drivers ed videos don’t tell you about. So try not to focus on THAT aspect of this trip too much as there’s going to be a lot of it. Pulling off the vein in Arcata we grab a friend of Bennett’s and hit downtown for some action. Mexican food ensues. The people I’m with insist on ordering Mexican food with the thickest Spanish accent they can muster as you often see annoying people do. “yes I’d like a TOOOOSTAAAAADAAAA and also can I grab a FAHEEEEETAAAA”. I launch into a comedy bit about some Mexicans walking into a mcdonalds and with thick Spanish accents and ordering food. Each word is spoken in perfect Spanish up to the (picture a very bad American hillbilly accent here) HAMBUUUURRRRGER. I am sure that’s how my friends sound. Fucking gringos. Meanwhile the convertible is blasting Mexican rock music the whole time. We get it. You’re NOT racist. You’re one of the good guys. Give me a fucking break. Off to downtown for some drinks! Cowboys and hippies diffuse a surprisingly excessive amount of bars in this pot smoking college paradise. We spread some of that city money around in the local watering holes. I work up the courage to go in for a hi with a woman who has been eye-fucking me for twenty minutes and am thwarted when the woman orders buffalo wings. Bennett and I spend a few minutes trying to work out what kind of weird issues i have and why buffalo wings were the catalyst. Dylan falls in love with local scenester Justine. We all split up and I wander around the square and try to soak up some local culture. Last time I was in Arcata was about ten years ago. A friend and I were hitchhiking up to Canada. I remember there being topless hippy girls selling burritos in the square. No such luck this time, but of course, topless girls aren’t really the novelty they were when I was eighteen. At some point Bennett screams to a stop in front of me with Dylan and Bennett’s friend in tow. I convince some chick standing on the sidewalk nearby to come with us and we both hop in. Dylan starts screaming ‘I love Justine! I LOVE HER! We have to go find her!” So we tear around the block looking for Justine. We get all the way around the block and sidewalk girl gets her wits together, realizes her bad judgment, and hops out of the car. Justine (who I don’t know if Dylan actually ever TALKED to) is M.I.A. so we head back to Bennett’s friend’s house where I promptly pass out.
Ahhhh summer mornings in the uncharted pacific northwest. Bennett is making breakfast for everyone with a pabst in his hand. It’s like ten a.m. I reintroduce myself to Bennett’s friend and her roommate and we all eat and chat for a bit. Dylan is still heartbroken.
Here’s my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things – highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes you’ve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
We pile in the car and head north.
After a minor fist fight Bennett agrees to take I5 the rest of the way to Portland. He had his heart set on driving along the coast, but we agree to go that route on the way back. Just before cresent city we spot an Indian casino and run inside, hands full of cash, giddy as schoolgirls. $120 lighter and three bloody marys smarter we’re off again. I can tell this is going to be a long day. Speedy we are not. Between beer runs, gambling, roadside urination and a desperate need on Bennett’s part to drive through EVERY little town on the map, just so he can say he’s been there, we are not going to get to Portland at any decent hour.
More soon.
Guy: That’s a small notebook.
Yours truly: It IS a small notebook.
Guy: You got a cigarette?
(hand him a Winston light)
Guy: My great-grandfather died re-shingling a roof at ninety-three. He fell off.
Yours Truly: damn….
Guy: He was smoking a Winston when he fell off.
Yours Truly: Fuck. That’s tough.
Guy: Yeah and when I was five my grandfather took me aside and told me I was going to be the man of the house pretty soon. Then he threw himself in front of a mack truck.
Yours Truly: What’s a mack truck? Like a big-wheeler?
Guy: Yeah.
Yours Truly: Damn. How are you going to top that?
Guy: Top it?
Yours Truly: How are you going to top that? Die fighting a grizzly bear with a whiskey bottle or something?
Guy: I’ll don’t know. What are you writing about?
Yours Truly: Your fucking grandfather!
I’m in desperate need of a hair cut so I’ve been staying in a lot more lately. My big plan was to not write another blog until I finished the Portland trip, but seeing as how it’s been a month and I’ve still only written about the first day I’ve decided to throw it up in sections.
Portand Part One
Portland was Bennett showing up at my house smiling wide in a rented white convertible. Bennett is mad li po 2005. An alcoholic angel with one left arm, all cool, on the window (wrist hanging off outside of car) and Winston dangling out of his mouth. I hop in with a battered backpack and we’re off to pick up Dylan in south berkeley. Then it’s me leaning against the car, not flipping a coin over and over again with a toothpick in my mouth, but that kind of vibe as Bennett runs in to grab Dylan. Dylan is a handsome genius. A furry chested Galileo. We all jump in the ride and eye each other conspiratorially for a second before deciding that just this once – it’s OKAY to drink beer in the car. We’re off and the sun shines down on a white blur of content speeding north over the Richmond bridge. Dylan plays bartender in the back seat bringing forth drinks on command while we pass through the invisible line in marin that separates the bay and wine country. Watch as the digital temp gauge rises eight degrees just like clockwork. We stop off in cotati to show off our cherry ride to dangerous dave wiseman and pick up some maps. Somewhere past willits paper cups are laughable and pabst blue cans sit in cup holders where they belong when Bennett’s at the wheel. I’ve never seen the man without a drink and I’ve never seen him drunk and there’s no one I’d rather have at the wheel and he was never without wheel or drink the whole adventure and I think that’s the way his gods play it. Neither you nor your god is that awesome so don’t try drunk driving kids. He’s the exception to the rule and the type of soul the bloody drivers ed videos don’t tell you about. So try not to focus on THAT aspect of this trip too much as there’s going to be a lot of it. Pulling off the vein in Arcata we grab a friend of Bennett’s and hit downtown for some action. Mexican food ensues. The people I’m with insist on ordering Mexican food with the thickest Spanish accent they can muster as you often see annoying people do. “yes I’d like a TOOOOSTAAAAADAAAA and also can I grab a FAHEEEEETAAAA”. I launch into a comedy bit about some Mexicans walking into a mcdonalds and with thick Spanish accents and ordering food. Each word is spoken in perfect Spanish up to the (picture a very bad American hillbilly accent here) HAMBUUUURRRRGER. I am sure that’s how my friends sound. Fucking gringos. Meanwhile the convertible is blasting Mexican rock music the whole time. We get it. You’re NOT racist. You’re one of the good guys. Give me a fucking break. Off to downtown for some drinks! Cowboys and hippies diffuse a surprisingly excessive amount of bars in this pot smoking college paradise. We spread some of that city money around in the local watering holes. I work up the courage to go in for a hi with a woman who has been eye-fucking me for twenty minutes and am thwarted when the woman orders buffalo wings. Bennett and I spend a few minutes trying to work out what kind of weird issues i have and why buffalo wings were the catalyst. Dylan falls in love with local scenester Justine. We all split up and I wander around the square and try to soak up some local culture. Last time I was in Arcata was about ten years ago. A friend and I were hitchhiking up to Canada. I remember there being topless hippy girls selling burritos in the square. No such luck this time, but of course, topless girls aren’t really the novelty they were when I was eighteen. At some point Bennett screams to a stop in front of me with Dylan and Bennett’s friend in tow. I convince some chick standing on the sidewalk nearby to come with us and we both hop in. Dylan starts screaming ‘I love Justine! I LOVE HER! We have to go find her!” So we tear around the block looking for Justine. We get all the way around the block and sidewalk girl gets her wits together, realizes her bad judgment, and hops out of the car. Justine (who I don’t know if Dylan actually ever TALKED to) is M.I.A. so we head back to Bennett’s friend’s house where I promptly pass out.
Ahhhh summer mornings in the uncharted pacific northwest. Bennett is making breakfast for everyone with a pabst in his hand. It’s like ten a.m. I reintroduce myself to Bennett’s friend and her roommate and we all eat and chat for a bit. Dylan is still heartbroken.
Here’s my deal with the trip, I think. I am hoping to get far enough away from my life that I can look back on it with some kind of third person perspective. Take stock. Make a list. Cross out the bad things – highlight the good. When things are piling too high on top sometimes you’ve got to sidestep and get the hell out before it all falls down.
We pile in the car and head north.
After a minor fist fight Bennett agrees to take I5 the rest of the way to Portland. He had his heart set on driving along the coast, but we agree to go that route on the way back. Just before cresent city we spot an Indian casino and run inside, hands full of cash, giddy as schoolgirls. $120 lighter and three bloody marys smarter we’re off again. I can tell this is going to be a long day. Speedy we are not. Between beer runs, gambling, roadside urination and a desperate need on Bennett’s part to drive through EVERY little town on the map, just so he can say he’s been there, we are not going to get to Portland at any decent hour.
More soon.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Any way you want it That's the way you need it Any way you want it
Last Weekend
Thursday.
Thursday night I took the train to San Francisco to see The Lovemakers at the Great American Music Hall. I was supposed to meet my friend Nina there at nine, but greatly underestimated the Bay Area Rapid Transit system and showed up wicked early. I chain smoked out front and read a book until she arrived. Some dude wanted fifty cents from me or he would “start blazing – we’re talking straight fireworks on the street”. Fair enough. The Lovermakers were pretty fun to watch. A hella fine dude and a hella fine chick dancing around on stage to some catchy, if not familiar, tunes. I have a feeling the guy in the back, hunched over the keyboard, might be the mastermind of that operation, but I’m almost always wrong about everything. Oh shit. The band before them was way awesome. They’re called Drunken Horse I believe. Check them out if you want to get your socks rocked off.
Friday.
Friday night I was planning on staying in and getting some much needed writing and bad television time in. Unfortunately, my friend Bennet (he’s what’s known in Alcoholics Anonymous circles as an ‘enabler’) showed up and dragged me out. Not much to tell about that night except I really wish I had just stayed in.
Grad School Party where two people had the same birthday as me.
Piano Bar where we hijacked a reserved table.
Frat party up in the Berkeley hills somewhere.
Two lame ass parties and $40 dollars poorer we move on to…
Saturday.
In the morning I drove out to the 707 with a friend and rocked the fuck out of some grunge music. The night we start playing shows you will all know it because everyone’s hair will grow two inches in two minutes. Mother fucking grunge.
That night I attended Morgan and Daisy’s “dress as your favorite 80’s rockstar” party in historic Cotati, California. Cotati looks like a big peace symbol when viewed from the air. This must have been a godsend to the mountains of hippies who flocked there in the late sixties. The exact source of the design for the city center remains a mystery, but most likely it was fashioned after the radiating star plan which is prevalent in the layout of many European cities, as well as Washington, D.C. and Detroit, Michigan.
Sunday.
I went record shopping in Berkeley with Caroline. Caroline HATES myspace. After she dropped me off at my studio I dove headfirst into the soul searching depression I like to call Sunday through Thursday. That’s when I freak out about going out too much and wasting too much time that could be spent writing or meditating or mountain climbing or whatever the fuck my thing is that week That’s where I am now. So if I haven’t returned anyone’s calls it’s because I need to be alone and try to get something constructive done before this road trip I’m taking on Thursday.
Labor Day
This Thursday I’m renting a car with some friends and high-tailing it for Portland. Road trip in the hizouse!!! My Portland Brethren - be ready to rock the house. I’m growing a mustache just for the trip (that is, I’m trying to grow one – not sure if I actually can. Either way it will be creepy).
A Play
The curtains open and we see two young ladies at an after party. A bar, sixty feet long, has been erected. Every variety of beverage is provided. A well-lit fireplace casts dancing shadows on the seventy-five men and fifteen women passed out cold around the girls. A feeling of melancholy floats down on our stars as the party has, clearly, reached its end.
Amy: The party was totally gay.
Judy: Um… can you, like, not use hate talk around me?
Amy: Hate talk?
Judy: Gay?
Amy: I think you may be confusing the word ‘Homosexual’ or the often derogatory ‘Fag’ for the word ‘Gay’. You want me to grab a dictionary?
Judy: I want you to shut up.
Amy: Get fucked.
The End.
A Poem
A woman
walking in the morning
with a Nalgene water bottle
has more purpose in
her little toe
than I’ve ever had
in my whole
life.
An excerpt from a nine year old diary grammar mistakes and all
“…that night we went to a Mushface show. Last time I was in L.A. it was when Davie and I toured with Punky Rockit and Hutch, but they weren’t too big and when they played they played small, illegal clubs in bad parts of town. Do-it-yourself kind if shows where punk rock veterans argue about the past just loud enough to awe the newer punks while you barter your way inside with a few cigarettes and of course that’s not really juice in your Snapple bottle. The Mushface show was a different story. I had no idea that they had a following, CDs, and a manager. The show was pretty fucking big. It was the cushy, glossy-photo side of the punk rock scene that I had never really experienced before because none of the local bands where I live are very big. But it wasn’t bad, just different. It seemed like there was this wild energy in the air. Maybe I was just excited about meeting so many new people and being in a new environment but really I think it was being in the middle of such a big city. I mean, all around me things were going on… Movies being filmed, young struggling actors and actresses trying to make their dreams come true, gang warfare, and tons and tons of people doing tons and tons of everything. It was all happening around me and I could just feel it. I made it my goal for the evening to meet every single person at the show… I didn’t succeed, but I did get engaged to this one girl who gave me a loll-i-pop ring. We smoked and planned out our honeymoon. Does she remember me? Anyway it was a great show and afterward I went to some party which was cool too, but by the time Chris and I got to his house I was completely exhausted. It had been a long 24 hours. The whole trip had been a rollercoaster. Long, fun days that always ended with Chris and I smoking and talking on his back porch. The next night I went to a crazy beach party in Malibu. It was perfect. Me and this girl sat watching UFOs and drinkink beer all night… Midnight kissing in a drunken bliss. The next morning I found out that the whole time we were making out Chris and some other people were holding off her angry boy-...”
Thursday.
Thursday night I took the train to San Francisco to see The Lovemakers at the Great American Music Hall. I was supposed to meet my friend Nina there at nine, but greatly underestimated the Bay Area Rapid Transit system and showed up wicked early. I chain smoked out front and read a book until she arrived. Some dude wanted fifty cents from me or he would “start blazing – we’re talking straight fireworks on the street”. Fair enough. The Lovermakers were pretty fun to watch. A hella fine dude and a hella fine chick dancing around on stage to some catchy, if not familiar, tunes. I have a feeling the guy in the back, hunched over the keyboard, might be the mastermind of that operation, but I’m almost always wrong about everything. Oh shit. The band before them was way awesome. They’re called Drunken Horse I believe. Check them out if you want to get your socks rocked off.
Friday.
Friday night I was planning on staying in and getting some much needed writing and bad television time in. Unfortunately, my friend Bennet (he’s what’s known in Alcoholics Anonymous circles as an ‘enabler’) showed up and dragged me out. Not much to tell about that night except I really wish I had just stayed in.
Grad School Party where two people had the same birthday as me.
Piano Bar where we hijacked a reserved table.
Frat party up in the Berkeley hills somewhere.
Two lame ass parties and $40 dollars poorer we move on to…
Saturday.
In the morning I drove out to the 707 with a friend and rocked the fuck out of some grunge music. The night we start playing shows you will all know it because everyone’s hair will grow two inches in two minutes. Mother fucking grunge.
That night I attended Morgan and Daisy’s “dress as your favorite 80’s rockstar” party in historic Cotati, California. Cotati looks like a big peace symbol when viewed from the air. This must have been a godsend to the mountains of hippies who flocked there in the late sixties. The exact source of the design for the city center remains a mystery, but most likely it was fashioned after the radiating star plan which is prevalent in the layout of many European cities, as well as Washington, D.C. and Detroit, Michigan.
Sunday.
I went record shopping in Berkeley with Caroline. Caroline HATES myspace. After she dropped me off at my studio I dove headfirst into the soul searching depression I like to call Sunday through Thursday. That’s when I freak out about going out too much and wasting too much time that could be spent writing or meditating or mountain climbing or whatever the fuck my thing is that week That’s where I am now. So if I haven’t returned anyone’s calls it’s because I need to be alone and try to get something constructive done before this road trip I’m taking on Thursday.
Labor Day
This Thursday I’m renting a car with some friends and high-tailing it for Portland. Road trip in the hizouse!!! My Portland Brethren - be ready to rock the house. I’m growing a mustache just for the trip (that is, I’m trying to grow one – not sure if I actually can. Either way it will be creepy).
A Play
The curtains open and we see two young ladies at an after party. A bar, sixty feet long, has been erected. Every variety of beverage is provided. A well-lit fireplace casts dancing shadows on the seventy-five men and fifteen women passed out cold around the girls. A feeling of melancholy floats down on our stars as the party has, clearly, reached its end.
Amy: The party was totally gay.
Judy: Um… can you, like, not use hate talk around me?
Amy: Hate talk?
Judy: Gay?
Amy: I think you may be confusing the word ‘Homosexual’ or the often derogatory ‘Fag’ for the word ‘Gay’. You want me to grab a dictionary?
Judy: I want you to shut up.
Amy: Get fucked.
The End.
A Poem
A woman
walking in the morning
with a Nalgene water bottle
has more purpose in
her little toe
than I’ve ever had
in my whole
life.
An excerpt from a nine year old diary grammar mistakes and all
“…that night we went to a Mushface show. Last time I was in L.A. it was when Davie and I toured with Punky Rockit and Hutch, but they weren’t too big and when they played they played small, illegal clubs in bad parts of town. Do-it-yourself kind if shows where punk rock veterans argue about the past just loud enough to awe the newer punks while you barter your way inside with a few cigarettes and of course that’s not really juice in your Snapple bottle. The Mushface show was a different story. I had no idea that they had a following, CDs, and a manager. The show was pretty fucking big. It was the cushy, glossy-photo side of the punk rock scene that I had never really experienced before because none of the local bands where I live are very big. But it wasn’t bad, just different. It seemed like there was this wild energy in the air. Maybe I was just excited about meeting so many new people and being in a new environment but really I think it was being in the middle of such a big city. I mean, all around me things were going on… Movies being filmed, young struggling actors and actresses trying to make their dreams come true, gang warfare, and tons and tons of people doing tons and tons of everything. It was all happening around me and I could just feel it. I made it my goal for the evening to meet every single person at the show… I didn’t succeed, but I did get engaged to this one girl who gave me a loll-i-pop ring. We smoked and planned out our honeymoon. Does she remember me? Anyway it was a great show and afterward I went to some party which was cool too, but by the time Chris and I got to his house I was completely exhausted. It had been a long 24 hours. The whole trip had been a rollercoaster. Long, fun days that always ended with Chris and I smoking and talking on his back porch. The next night I went to a crazy beach party in Malibu. It was perfect. Me and this girl sat watching UFOs and drinkink beer all night… Midnight kissing in a drunken bliss. The next morning I found out that the whole time we were making out Chris and some other people were holding off her angry boy-...”
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Just in case i get hit by a bus or something...
I, the undersigned, Joshua Jon Doan make my last Will and Testament as follows:
REVOCATION OF PREVIOUS WILLS
I hereby expressly revoke all other wills, codicils and legacies predating the present Will. Without prejudice to the foregoing, all other wills.
FUNERAL AND BURIAL
For the most part I dont give a shit what you do with my body because Ill be dead. Do what you want. Have a blast. If one of my family or friends want to have a funeral for me, thats fine. One thing though: Absolutely no Christian shit. Snakes can't talk and that's the end of it. I dont want friends or family putting a bunch of religious nonsense on me when I cant defend myself. Dont even mention a higher power. In fact, if youre a religious person you cant believe that I went to your heaven or that Im energy now or that Ive been reincarnated. You have to believe that Im just dead.
Update
I would like to be burried in Becky's 'detroit: where the weak are killed and eaten' tee shirt.
LEGACIES
I leave all my assets and movables at the time of my death or thereafter descend to my estate, to Dangerous David Wiseman except for the following:
My cowboy belt which I leave to Joe Morato at his request.
All my books go to my sister, Stephanie Rose Doan. I know it'll be a bitch to mail all that stuff out to wherever she lives, but get it done.
David can dole out the rest of my belongings as he sees fit. Also, Christian has to help him move stuff with his truck if he needs it.
Upate - Now fools are demanding to be included so here are a few amendments.
Megan - you get my red fondue pot, but you have to promise to have a fondue party with all of my friends 3 weeks after Im dead.
Christian - Anything i've ever written in paper or on my computer.
Bennett - At your request you get my Nintendo Game Cube.
Michelle - My dollar store red cups
Becky - To you i leave a cold glass of 'Shut the hell up!'
JL - You get any cats under the age of one year that i may have at the time of my death. You do not get my guitar.
NOTIFYING FAMILY
Finding my family to tell them what happened may be tricky. I dont have my Father or Mothers phone numbers. I only speak to them through instant messages once in a while. The best thing to do would be to try and figure out my AIM password and reach them that way. I'm pretty sure David knows the password.
Signed at Berkeley, California this August 17th 2005
Joshua Jon Doan
REVOCATION OF PREVIOUS WILLS
I hereby expressly revoke all other wills, codicils and legacies predating the present Will. Without prejudice to the foregoing, all other wills.
FUNERAL AND BURIAL
For the most part I dont give a shit what you do with my body because Ill be dead. Do what you want. Have a blast. If one of my family or friends want to have a funeral for me, thats fine. One thing though: Absolutely no Christian shit. Snakes can't talk and that's the end of it. I dont want friends or family putting a bunch of religious nonsense on me when I cant defend myself. Dont even mention a higher power. In fact, if youre a religious person you cant believe that I went to your heaven or that Im energy now or that Ive been reincarnated. You have to believe that Im just dead.
Update
I would like to be burried in Becky's 'detroit: where the weak are killed and eaten' tee shirt.
LEGACIES
I leave all my assets and movables at the time of my death or thereafter descend to my estate, to Dangerous David Wiseman except for the following:
My cowboy belt which I leave to Joe Morato at his request.
All my books go to my sister, Stephanie Rose Doan. I know it'll be a bitch to mail all that stuff out to wherever she lives, but get it done.
David can dole out the rest of my belongings as he sees fit. Also, Christian has to help him move stuff with his truck if he needs it.
Upate - Now fools are demanding to be included so here are a few amendments.
Megan - you get my red fondue pot, but you have to promise to have a fondue party with all of my friends 3 weeks after Im dead.
Christian - Anything i've ever written in paper or on my computer.
Bennett - At your request you get my Nintendo Game Cube.
Michelle - My dollar store red cups
Becky - To you i leave a cold glass of 'Shut the hell up!'
JL - You get any cats under the age of one year that i may have at the time of my death. You do not get my guitar.
NOTIFYING FAMILY
Finding my family to tell them what happened may be tricky. I dont have my Father or Mothers phone numbers. I only speak to them through instant messages once in a while. The best thing to do would be to try and figure out my AIM password and reach them that way. I'm pretty sure David knows the password.
Signed at Berkeley, California this August 17th 2005
Joshua Jon Doan
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