I was born in Miami to immigrants, raised by Spanglish and wild hand gestures.
I dropped out of high-school to become a blues guitarist, but John Mayer got there first—and with more sex appeal. So I went to college and got a degree in philosophy, which was as useful as dropping out of high school.
My main skill is yawning just before my crush looks at me, so then all they see is yawn-face followed by recovering-yawn-face. My main vice is Red Gatorade. My main man is Marc (best friends since 16).
I wear a variation of the same outfit every day. People notice. People comment. People consider donating clothes.
I like to be called Daniel or Danny, but not Dan. I don’t play enough golf or beer pong to be called Dan.
Bio interlude: Look, Metallica’s Load is really not as bad as people make it out to be. It’s a pretty solid album; give it a chance.
I scrub my bathtub for a living. I do my laundry for a living. I put on my shoes in the morning for a living.
I’ve lived in Miami, Chicago, Stockholm, Boston, NYC, SF, NYC again, LA, SF again, LA again, and Austin.
And Flannery O'Connor changed the way I write.
