I am the middle son of three boys. My older brother Anthony is 2 years older; my younger brother Sam is 14 months younger. My parents were certifiable.
I went to art school from ages 7 to 15, after school once a week for 2 hours per session.
I wrote a novel in 1997-1998. The first draft of the manuscript was 556 pages long.
I was six years old the first time I was a caregiver to someone with a terminal illness.
I was 31 years old the last time.
I’m still amazed, each and every day, that I get to live in San Francisco.
I visited the Netherlands in 1999, and everywhere I went, even though I was with a bunch of Americans, Nederlanders spoke to me in Dutch. And everywhere I went, I knew each place and knew what was around the next corner, especially in the fishing village of Enkhuizen. I’d never been there before. It was so spot-on I was spooked for weeks. I’m certain that I was Dutch once. At least once.
I like pictures and sculptures of suns with rays around them and smiley faces on them.
And green men.
Even though I have blue eyes, I have a thing for men with blue eyes. Or men with very dark and shiny eyes.
I’ve learned that whenever someone says, “It’s just sex”, a lie is being perpetrated. Always.
When I was three, I knew all the words to “Wilkommen” from Cabaret in all three languages, phonetically.
I had my very own Auntie Mame, my Aunt Toots (Julia), and I didn’t have to lose my own parents in order to have her. She died one month after Allen died in the summer of 1995. I hated the summer of 1995.
The first person I ever fell in love with was a girl. Her name was Marti Lawrence.
The first real relationship I ever had was with Allen Howland and he completely understood about Marti.
Working at Apple taught me the truth in that old saw, “Never meet your heroes in person.”
The iPhone has validated years of my personal philosophy about the web browser.
You wish you had my parents.
My mom likes to play a paternity shell game with my dad(??) about me and my brothers(??). My dad(??) and I think it’s hilarious but my brothers(??) get skittish about it.
I’ve seen the movie Grease well over 50 times, most of which were long before the age of the VCR, much less the DVD or iTunes.
I despise anyone who willingly surrenders their individuality or their humanity, by an inch or a mile, for a moment or a lifetime, for fun or forever. “Pups” are worthless and “Bears” can be ruinous.
When I was in second or third grade, when walking home from school, a younger student walked down to swelled banks of Toby’s Creek. We all pled with him to come back up, but he wouldn’t. He drowned when the waters took him away. The boy’s parents sued and called me and my friend all sorts of things and accused us of egging him on and daring him. It wasn’t until I was a grownup that I understood how my folks could be upset and angry at the boy’s mom for accusing me, yet defend her to me at the same time. See #18.
Growing up, I was an altar boy, a lector, and my job in junior high and high school was doing pretty much all the office work for St. Therese’s Church in Shavertown, PA. The pastor, Fr. Joseph Sammons, was one of the kindest, most decent, bosses I’ve ever had.
I grew up Catholic, but I am no longer so. Life is like a puzzle that makes a picture that others have defined. I used my [god given] talents to take my view of that life apart, only I put it back together for myself, making a picture that was all my own. The edges weren’t straight lines and there were a few pieces left over and no longer needed. Those leftovers were god & religion. I discarded those.
I believe that reality is subjective and that, when you get the hang of it, you can move yourself from el mundo malo to el mundo bueno by manipulating surface energies.