Friends or colleagues might describe me as somewhat gregarious or almost on the cusp of being handsome. It doesn't really matter how they'd describe me; I couldn't hear them anyway. I am deaf - my hearing the victim to a cruel clique of eight-year-olds armed only w/ whistles & megaphones. I tried to outrun them, to fight them off, but I was still a few months from my sixth birthday & no match for their pre-pubescent strength. With their gorilla-like build, Billy and Bobby Thistlethwaite had no problem pinning my arms to the playground blacktop, while others blew referee whistles through megaphones into my ears. Only when my eardrums ruptured did the torture stop. With blood pouring down the side of my neck like a mob-hit victim, I remember sprinting home, not being able to hear my own feet hit the pavement or deafening cries for help. Mmmmmmkay - gonna stop that bullshit story in its tracks: I'm not actually deaf, but was updating this at 3am and not actually sober.
I'd rather "break the ice" over a cup of joe or pint of hoppy nectar, but if I must reveal something, then here are a few random factoids: I love, love reading The Economist to feed my addiction to current affairs; if the weather is nice, I'm probably on my bike or grilling out; I've bribed a Senegalese border guard w/ a few bucks, cigarettes & ________; I drive through red lights if no one is around; and pranayama is my answer to traffic jams. Brewing my own beer has also become a scrumdillyumptious hobby. I specialize in IPA's, so I hope you like hops. Oh and during the election, I volunteered for the Obama campaign in Ohio.
Let's go Bucs. Go Pens. Go Bears.
I enjoy professional sports, but they aren't the be-all end-all of my weekly schedule. If it's 75 & sunny on a Sunday in Pittsburgh, the last place you'll find my backside is glued to a barstool listening to some yinzer wax poetic on why the Steelers suddenly suck.