I'm an entrepreneur and self-employed by choice, a freelance writer by accident, a political activist by compulsion, and hypercaffeinated by sunset. Coffee beans regard me as a minor and dangerous deity in their religious rituals. I'm opinionated and well-informed on many obscure topics, but I just smile and nod rhythmically when the topic turns to sports or celebrities. I allow my grumpy side to show to friends, but I'm always kind to tourists and small dogs. I carry enough gadgets on me that I'm bulletproof from certain angles. I will travel anywhere for the skimpiest of reasons.

I'm a computer guy to earn my keep, a freelance writer (currently in progress on my second nonfiction book and my fourth unfinished novel), and an activist on a few dozen issues. I bounce back and forth between calling Washington and Philadelphia home, and every once in a while I hang in a new city for a few weeks for the hell of it. Early 2013 itinerary: Las Vegas, San Francisco, Los Angeles; durations TBD.

Poker. Clever computer hacks. Writing. Sounding intelligent on random topics with only the barest understanding of the details. Laughing at myself when I *completely* screw that up. Accidental Rube Goldberg solutions to extremely simple problems.

I'd like to say it's my witty demeanor and flair, but more likely it's the hat.

An incomplete list. Books: Stardust, by Neil Gaiman. Connecticut Yankee, by Mark Twain. Getting Things Done, by David Allen. Harrington on Hold 'Em, by Dan Harrington.

Movies: It's a Wonderful Life, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Singin' in the Rain, The Philadelphia Story, Lawrence of Arabia, The Matrix, Young Frankenstein, The Producers (original).

Music: both Mozart and bad Europop 80s dance remixes are in heavy rotation on my iTunes. The next four tracks on my most-played list: I-Nine, 7 Days of Lonely; Bowling for Soup, Friends Like You; Julie Murphy, Operator; Frenzal Rhomb: You Need A Friend.

1. Truth in advertising: my MacBook. Aside from making my living on it, it's got all of my tunes, a bunch of movies and TV shows I want to watch, a 24-7 poker game, and it's where most of my friends live. (By which I mean they're scattered around the world and we talk via email. Not the imaginary little digital men. I had a falling out with them some years back.)

2. Starbucks. Jeez, just look at my username. It's not just the coffee, it's a convenient work environment wherever I happen to be.

3. A pack of smokes and a vat of coffee. Yes, I'm addicted to nicotine and caffeine. Yes, I know it's not good for me. We all have our ways of bumping up our endorphin production, and these are some of mine. And I am quite able to temporarily forego the above when given sufficient incentive, such as an endorphin-inducing nonsmoking romantic interest who prefers her date not smelling like an ashtray.

4. One good book, with another to follow when that's done.

5. One good friend, randomly chosen from a large rotating pool, for good conversation on a semiregular basis.

6. My gray, beat-to-hell fedora. I prefer to think that it makes me look like Cary Grant. I'm kidding myself.

Quantum physics, dark matter, and the Drake equation. Why people don't think airplanes are frakking miraculous. What my personal role should be as a progressive activist. Whether I'm missing out by not reading comic books any more. How I should have played AQ suited with 100-200 blinds the night before.

Surprised it's Friday. Self-employed, so I don't notice until the restaurants start getting more crowded.

If I had any talent, the musical role I'd most like to play is the part of Florence in a cross-gender production of Chess. Yes, I'm straight. But she's got such great songs, and Freddy is just a wanker.

Mid-July 2010: I am horrified to read on the OKC blog that men add two inches to their height. So, the complete truth: I am *not* 5'5". Would I lie and say 5'7"? Hell, might as well say 6'2", and then only meet women in poorly lit places which are stilt-friendly. "He was a really nice guy, but *damn*, what was up with his ankles?"

I recently lost 30 pounds, which still didn't get me back to college weight, but I'm happy with it. At press time, I'm bouncing between 185 and 190, from a high of 210. I am in far better shape than I have any reason to be—if it's under five miles, under 90 degrees, and I have time, that's walking distance.

January 2011: *second* edit, as I apparently am giving the impression that I only like children in a nice Béarnaise sauce with a side of leafy greens. I expect to have kids someday, but that's increasingly up in the air. I get along fine with my friends' kids, who are uniformly intelligent and sweet and well-mannered. Until three minutes ago, I said "dislikes children" in the sense of "likes dogs, unfond of cats, not thrilled with screaming brats being ignored by their parents." I have changed this to "—", which means now most of you will assume I have three kids living in a trailer in North Carolina.

You're the kind of person who has already decided whether you're interested in striking up a conversation with me. You are reading this primarily to look for last minute reasons to decide I'm actually a well-disguised ogre, or for additional conversational tidbits.

If you are short, cute, highly energetic, and completely incompatible with me, then you are probably my type based on past experience.