Just kidding. I'm active, healthy, interested, adventurous, faithful, honest, well-read, love to travel and I crave exotic cultures and languages. Give me a fast boat ride to a deep reef, a bevy of hungry sharks swimming around me, a hot gun barrel on a firing range, passing a bottle of Makers Mark with my buddies around a camp fire. I like a steamy jungle trail, Mayan pyramids, wild mountain rides in a rickety bus in some Third World country. You can take your trips to Sweden or Switzerland. I'd prefer Spain, Portugal, Greece or Italy. The Orient, Central America, Mexico capture my interest. I crave hot weather, hotter women and clear water. I'll take a sailboat ride with a reefed mainsail on a windy day in a friend's boat or a ride with the local constabulary early on a Sunday morning chasing dopers and thieves. I've leapt out of a couple of perfectly good airplanes, been 150 feet deep in the kelp forests off Catalina Island, waved like a flag gripping a rock in a stiff current 60 feet below the surface of the Pacific Ocean on Midrange in the Coronados off the west coast of Baja. I've buzzed radio towers flying a Piper J-3, chased sharks on the reefs in the Caribbean, dodged wild peccaries in the jungles of the Yucatan and encountered a 15-foot python in the mountains of southern Luzon. And I love watching the sun go down over the water at Mallory Square in Key West with an expensive, hand-rolled cigar in my mouth that I bought on Duvall Street earlier in the day.
Of course, that's not my every day life. But those are some of the things I've done. And that's the truth.
I really enjoy live theater. But sitting in the front row of a district courtroom during a felony trial is better theater than any bunch of actors can provide quoting from a script.
I was born in a hospital on the banks of the Ohio River in Wheeling, West Virginia at the end of 1945. My dad, his dad and his brothers played banjos and mandolins on stage at the Friday night square dances. They hunted and fished in the green mountains south of the Pennsylvania border, brewed and sold their own beer and distilled their own white lightning. My grandpap's hunting buddies loved to see him come driving up to the lodge in Canada in his woody station wagon because he always had some brown jugs in the back.
I was conceived in a seedy apartment on East Sixth Street in Austin where my mother and father lived when he was stationed at Bergstrom Field during the war. I may not have been born in Texas, but I've always believed my conception here makes me a native.
My mother was a native of Winters, Texas and she demanded that we move back to Texas when my dad got out of the Army. So I got back here as soon as I could, at the age of 11 months. Except for four years in the Army and the spring and summer of 1970, when I lived on Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard, I've lived in Texas ever since. The Lone Star State is my favorite place.
San Antonio, Corpus Christi, Rockport, Fulton and the Gulf of Mexico are all only an hour away. And this place is dead on weekends.
I'm drawn to dark-haired, brown-skinned women with dark, sparkling eyes who roll their Rs and speak with an accent. But I also like freckles on pale skin, blue eyes and pink lips. A simple southern accent or a Texas drawl will do nicely.
And I like women who are a little bit country.