I admire this site's layout staff for heading the profile section with a box which allows us all to immediately ascertain how vain a person truly is. Accordingly, I'll modestly say I have the striking appearance and cool demeanor of James Dean coupled with the calculated charm of James Bond. I possess the rapier wit of Oscar Wilde tempered by the righteous compassion of Mahatmas Gandhi. Women find me irresistible. Undoubtedly, at this very instant there are several groups of young, eligible, ladies of noble blood fanning their own flushed bosoms whilst whispering my exploits as if I were Don Juan himself. Surely, my multifaceted organizational prowess and epic achievements must have Ramses II unraveling himself with envy while tumbling over his own clattering bones in his pathetic pauper's sarcophagus. Believe me not? A brief snippet from my biographical film may be found here . Oh, and I have legs like Betty Page...

I'm self employed, spending most of my workdays in my shop restoring antiques and building hot rods. The 1930's are my current specialty...
I also run a small entertainment company. More on that if I ever happen to talk with you in person. (No, I'm not a pornographer. Sorry to let you down...)

In high school I was voted least likely to appear in the yearbook's superlative section. So it goes...

I look like Grizzly Adams fell into a wormhole, stopped in 1974 for a quick wardrobe update, then continued on to be ejected into this current foul year.

Books: Yes
Movies: Sometimes
Shows: Never
Music: Often
Food: As needed

I like to think I'm adaptive and unattached. However, if I'm to pick six items I really like having on hand, then I will go with:
1.) A well made pocket knife
2.) Comfortable boots
3.) Firewood
4.) A fully stocked tool cabinet
5.) A fully stocked liquor cabinet
6.) Toilet paper

I spend a lot of time thinking about the utter bewilderment of beings from some future civilization upon disinterring us from our own sedimentary layer of toxic filth. Their perplexed Jetsonian or alien academics will devise ever more creative and bogus theories to explain why a somewhat technologically sophisticated society capable of harnessing the power of the atom still poisoned itself through senseless resource management aimed at the production of useless novelties. "A cult of mass suicide!" One such professor from a faraway galaxy will proclaim to his peers during his dissertation: "Aunt Jemima Syrup Bottles and the Petrochemical Evolution of the Paleolithic Mother Goddess Figure in Earth's Final Age." He will drone on, tentacles waving while citing the relevance of Xorbos Intergalactic University's collection of Earth Age items, including a Snuggie, Billy Bass, a "Hummer", inflatable Santas, diamonds, an electric leaf blower, five bladed razors, and, of course, what is believed to be the mummy of the widely worshiped Earth Goddess Queen, Snooki. Finally, he will set his holographic note cards aside, wring his tentacles and conclude, "While we don't know why Homo Moronicus consciously destroyed his own means of survival, we can expect he went to his noxious grave sufficiently entertained."

On a typical Friday night I am stomping my brake pedal to bring my sedan to a screeching halt, spilling coffee on my freshly pressed suit, then leering from my window, cursing and shaking my fist at "young punk" drivers.

I tear up at the end of Death Wish 3...

You are between the ages of 21 and 86. Sorry to the 87 and up faction, but I just don't feel we'll really have much in common. It's good to act your age...

You enjoy civil discourse and have mastered the ability to think twice before speaking (or typing) once

Your preferred reading material doesn't involve vampires, child wizards, the dead reanimated, or a group of bling obsessed munchkins wandering lost in some fantastical alternate dimension of medieval Scotland

You might care to meet and have a drink with someone new