Random Things About Me

I think the world would be a better place if we all wore name tags.
I believe that, like all forms of art, writing is primarly self-serving. The result may eventually serve an outer purpose, but the act is first and foremost for one’s own self… an inner purpose.
Whenever I park in a sectioned lot or garage, I always leave the car in B4 – no matter where it’s located. This way, I remember that I parked B4 I left.
I often worry that my TO-DO list will become an obituary for all of my wonderful ideas.
I was born to endure public embarrassment. I’ve been accused by Walmart of stealing my own underwear, once fallen into a shopping mall fountain, farted quite loudly during an important business meeting and – to this day – tend to leave home fairly often with my jeans unzipped. But it’s all provided for good cocktail-party stories and taught me not to take myself so seriously.
I think hate is a far more damaging word than fuck.
I love to play with Scotch tape.
I believe that plain white undies are the lovechild of insipidity.
I never eat blue food. I don’t think it’s part of God’s plan…
I am hopelessly in love with unsharpened pencils. All those words waiting to pour out, the eraser yet to be used… no words written, no mistakes identified. In that moment, anything – any thought, sentence, story – is deliciously possible.
Each and every day, I struggle to avoid eating Corn Pops for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I once crawled over three people in a row of airplane seats to meet Bob Keeshan, a.k.a. Captain Kangaroo.
I have written some of my very best stuff on the backs of cocktail napkins. The next time I need stationery, I am ordering it in 4×4 inch two-ply squares. Napkins are an enticingly absorbent surface for stories and ideas…
Once while visiting the Van Gogh Museum, I touched Sunflowers. I was promptly escorted out of the Museum, but this moment remains a high point for me.
I believe that life is far too short to spend it with people you don’t love – or with people who don’t love you.
In my late forties, I arrived at a place where I became entirely unwilling to prove to others anything that I did not need to prove to myself. This is my own personal definition of success.
I currently own about 390 plastic windups.
I never celebrate New Year’s Eve, but adore New Year’s Day. For me, it’s about beginnings.
Monkeys scare the shit outta me. Don’t ask why, I don’t really know…