An unabashed list of some of Dan Choi’s actual foibles:

My socks almost never match – not intentionally, though probabilistically. A year ago I threw away all of my black socks and now my drawer is entirely furnished by different pairs of Happy Socks from which I pull two at random each morning.

When I dress more nicely, I have a habit of acting more eccentric in public. My theory is that no one assumes a guy in a suit is a crazy homeless man, so I tend to take the opportunity to let my wild flag fly a bit more.

I meow. Unintentionally, most of the time. One time in front of a room full of strangers. Another time someone legitimately thought there was a cat in the room, and I was too embarrassed to say anything.

I buy dress shirts and blazers from H&M; purchase jeans, slacks, and polos from Banana Republic; wear Skagen watches; get suits tailored; and collect t-shirts from events, clubs, and companies. Almost without exception.

I make an active effort to not eat beef. I think it’s for dietary reasons, though I’m honestly not sure.

I habitually use too much laundry detergent and far too many dryer sheets.

I cannot functionally brush my teeth unless I’m standing over a sink the entire time. Toothpaste foam builds up in my mouth at an astonishing rate. I honestly don’t understand how people can brush their teeth while doing other things.

At the end of a long day, I have a somewhat strange unconscious ritual for taking off my socks. I pull one sock off using my toes on the other foot, and then I pull the other sock off with my newly freed toes, rolling the first sock I took off inside the second (all of this solely using my feet). I then swing the sock around, bashing it into my leg and other objects – the other sock in a ball at the end to aid in the momentum. I guess it’s kinda difficult to explain, but people who have seen me do this know what I’m talking about.

At almost all times, I keep a black or blue Pilot G2 0.7mm pen clipped into my left front pants pocket. When I’m wearing a blazer, it’ll usually occupy my left inside chest pocket.

I can be a crabby patty in the mornings. I started drinking coffee regularly two years ago, when I realized it made people fear me less in the mornings.

that girl

who knew
that such big dreams
could fit inside such a little frame.

but then again,
maybe that explains why inspiration
seems to have no choice
but to escape her form.
via sheer osmosis,
igniting the very air about her.

and those lucky few
in whose company she keeps, know
there’s more than enough magic to go around.


when you told me
what you told me,
i know
you had imagined i might explode.
maybe take the midnight train
out of the city.
i’d been known for abrupt exits.
but then again, so had you.

and perhaps, had i met your expectations,
things would’ve been easier
for us both.

but i didn’t.

i lay there quietly.
taking long, contemplative breaths.
speaking in steady, hushed tones.
you lay beside me,
as we both struggled for words.

maybe it was selfish,
but in that moment, i wanted us to really feel it.
i wanted to watch the foundations as they crumbled.
to not look away in fear or regret,
or disgust, or nonchalance.

for it was our house, set ablaze that night.
and if the wreckage were to pierce this heart, i felt,
let it be through my chest. and not my back.
here was that space between my ribs,
it was always open for you.

if tonight should be my last

if tonight should be my last
– for it may always be so –
i’ll take one final, slow breath
burying it deep within my soul.
so that when i greet death,
he and i might share a laugh.

“thank you,” I will sigh, with but wisps in my chest,
“…for making meaningful this life I have led.”