My life in ten words:

school, more school, yet more school, fencing, AI, novel.

That's only nine words, but I'm still young.

My apartment looks like someone was interrupted in the act of looting a library. Most of my favorite writers are dead - the only living one is Joan Didion, who is very frail - I am trying not to believe that my liking a writer kills them. I am find the south bay fascinating in part because of its sense of historylessness, but today I found some history, in that my office is built on a superfund site, but I understand the offending chemicals are more mutagenic than carcinogenic, so, mazeltov.

I do R&D for a start-up. I do AI research for fun on my own. I write fiction that I thought would be seen by about 2.5 of my friends, ever, but is, to my complete amazement, finding publication. I have recovered from my surprise and am now writing an even more obscure book that I think 1.5 friends will ever see. I do martial arts when not prevented by a knee injury. *&^*&^@! knee.

Oh, and there's an installation art piece Im going to do sometime this year - a sort of book that changes depending on how you look at it.

Writing. Science. Fighting. Oh, and, talking fast - in the moment, the confabulation just flows. So it was either writing or politics.

I am reasonably tall, have good hair (very good hair for someone who works with computers) and sound like Im from somewhere else. I try to be nice. I have a huge vocabulary that deploys itself without my consent.

Everything by Borges. Calvino, esp. Invisible Cities. Joan Didion. Lately Ive been reading Ian McEwan, which is very well, but feels like beautifull crafted ordinary novels.

Favorite movies are Orlando and The Pillow Book.

bioluminescent microorganisms. steam rising from the french press. lists. lists of lists. the promise of good books I haven't read. the promise of good books I haven't written.

books. cognition.

This is where Im supposed to indicate that I am studious yet a wild child, urbane while still being a total sot, right? So, um, on a typical Friday I drop ecstacy* and go dancing at hipster hang-out The Beauty Bar** in SF and read In Search of Lost Time*** when the DJ takes a breather.

* - False. Never done E. Hear it does nasty things to the brain. ** - Never been there, though I think I drove past it once when I was driving around SF very, very lost, in the long long ago before my friend got tired of me being 45 minutes late and gave me a laminated foldable map on the condition I promise to keep it in my car and not lose it. ***- Haven't actually read Proust, though Im told I would like it. There hasn't actually been a French writer I've liked since Dumas, though I keep trying.

I have willfully unconventional comma usage. A friend of mine is trying to get all Strunk & White on my ass and be all up in my commas but I use them to indicate how a sentence can be read - sometimes I want the reader to rush along and deliberately leave out commas that are, in a prescriptive sense, required. A technique I learned one rain-drenched august in the brothels of Bilbao...*

* - Not really, but it makes it sound more private.

You are smart and interesting. Or - you will provide occasional pretexts for getting the hell out of Menlo Park. Or - You are well read. Or - You have mastered northern mantis kung fu.