That's the summary. If you like it short and sweet, you can stop reading now.
Then, all hell broke loose, and the economic infrastructure in Japan became too unsteady for my liking, so I put those plans on hold in favor of leveraging my experience in local startups.
At the moment, that's going swimmingly.
When I'm not working, which is seldom, I like to read non-fiction and occasionally well written sci-fi, watch Japanese animation, go to Sci-Fi conventions, and contribute to open-source computing projects around the web.
Additionally, I'm a decent cook, if the menu only has beef and peppers on it. I'm *fantastic* at disposing of leftover beer - a natural talent I discovered early on, but have yet to determine a means of monetizing, more's the pity.
Furthermore, I'm a *spot-on* assembly language programmer and have figured out a way to get people to give me money for it. This is a good thing for my bank account and self-confidence, but a bad thing for being able to talk about work with other people.
Now that we've discussed what I'm really good at, let's talk about what I'm really *bad* at:
Packing snowballs that maintain their integrity in flight.
Maintaining interest in MMORPGs for more than a couple of days.
Keeping my mouth shut in the presence of the painfully stupid, especially if they *also* can't seem to keep their mouths shut.
Explaining technology to neophytes. This is a big one - I am *bad, bad, bad, bad, bad* at telling people how tech works. Very bad.
Tuning out howling dogs, loud machinery, or whiny, nasal voices in the background.
Unless I've been mauled by a tiger recently. Then, I imagine my hair and eyes probably don't get noticed until a while later.
Also, if I've been exhumed and subjected to a zombification ritual, I suspect my hair and eyes still might be the first things noticed, but in a profoundly different way.
So I guess this question depends on a lot of factors.
The Time Traveler's Wife (Audrey Niffenegger, 2003)
Neuromancer (William Gibson, 1984)
Count Zero (William Gibson, 1987)
Mona Lisa Overdrive (William Gibson, 1997)
The Art of Deception (Kevin Mitnick, et. al., 2003)
The Way of the River (BK Loren, 2001)
Me Talk Pretty One Day (David Sedaris, 2001)
There are, of course, more, but these are the ones that spring immediately to mind.
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
The Dark Knight
Serial Experiments: Lain
Ghost in the Shell
The Yes Men Fix the World
I like Jack Conte, the works of Nobuo Uematsu, and Stemage for day-to-day listening.
Japanese. Beef. Pizza. Beer. I'm a simple man with simple tastes.
2. My tiny car. I drive a 2008 Smart. This is a car so small that in the Netherlands they're apparently having trouble with an internet meme giving teenagers the idea to sneak up at night, pick up these teeny tiny cars, carry them to a nearby body of water and toss them in. I knew I loved my teeny car when hearing that made my heart race and my palms sweat.
3. Physical intimacy. Without touch, I wither and die. Don't get me wrong, I'm not much for having people around all the time, or for that matter even *most* of the time, but I definitely need to connect with other folks for skin time or I just start to get *mean*.
4. Fresh Sushi. There is something about sushi which flips a little switch inside of me labeled 'reset the cranky timer'. When I left Seattle, I went without sushi for a truly intolerable period of time and the situation unfortunately became desperate. However, now that I've found a reliable place to go for fresh (albeit inland) sushi, I go a couple of times per month, and am much nicer to be around.
5. My own space. Over the course of two failed marriages and a number of live-in love relationships, I have discovered that I am a cranky bastard when I have someone else consistently in my space. I can forestall the inevitable for spans ranging up even to a couple of years, if I'm able to convince my body that it's fulfilling it's biological imperative with the other people in my space, but the clock is always ticking, and I'm never as happy and/or full of self-respect as I am when I have a spot that's just mine, and I don't have to share it with anyone else.
This doesn't have to be an entire dwelling, I've found, just someplace where it's mine, I can decorate it the way I want, and things stay where I put them.
6. A place to swim, preferably the ocean. There comes a time every so often where I find that my head's just not working right and I can't think straight. This is my body's way of telling me it's time to find the ocean again.
I can usually trick it for a time with a lake or large swimming pool, but for sanity's sake, I generally head back to the ocean once or twice a year.
Pursuant to those concepts, I also find myself considering political approaches to opening up import of currently restricted technologies into the US for public consumption.
Most of the time as well, I'm mulling over a math problem in the back of my head. We like math. Math R Fun.
On the off nights, however, I like to read, watch movies, or find something to do with friends/lovers.
You can stop looking at me like that, now. I'm in good company.
You want to sell me something and don't mind never hearing back from me, ever.
You have a great idea for a new tactical zombie repellent mechanism and want my input.
You wish to feed me good food and give me backrubs.
You should *not* message me if:
You want to lure me into your underground lair and cut me up into little pieces for use in your demented collage.
You think a 'collage' is an institution for advanced learning.
You want to involve me in a 'don't ask, don't tell' sort of arrangement. I'll ask, and I'll tell.
Your message involves the use of 'ur', the numeral '2' instead of 'too', the term 'l8r', etc...
You're a married guy and have only read far enough into my profile to tell that I engage in polyamorous relationships, and you think that means I'm not only indiscriminate, but also willing to let you experiment with bisexuality on my body without first discussing the situation with your spouse.
You want to sell me something and expect me to respond to your ridiculous spam campaign.
You own a tiger.