43Los Angeles, United States
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My self-summary
I love taking the most indefensible rhetorical positions out of genteel cussedness. I write, I make films, I work with wood. I can build anything and have restored for pleasure, not for profit, hundred-year-old Craftsman houses in Los Angeles, implementing in some instances, unorthodox design innovations (I'm a hidden mechanism obsessive). The child of an aerospace engineer, my wooly artist's head is nonetheless brimming with science - well, maybe not brimming, but I'm very science-sympathetic. MD's and other bespectacled research types arouse me and induce a blizzard of theoretical questions. I ask a lot of questions.
What I’m doing with my life
Working in the second most exasperating profession. Designing things. Dreaming of the day when there's oodles of telomeres. If I could step into a time capsule, I'd make a beeline to Rome, circa 44 BC. THOSE were the days. I travel extensively. Most of my friends have heavy accents.
I’m really good at
Anticipating your thoughts before you've had them. Finding the sweet spot. Surprising the skeptics.
The first things people usually notice about me
The hair. In this department, I give a certain German physicist a run for his money.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
I think lists as long as the AIDS quilt are kind of pointless. Yes, yes, we get it. You and me like edgy, innovative fare. I will however give a shout-out to the greatest English prose stylist of the 20th century, Nabokov, whose praises are sung far too infrequently on OKC. Also, I love Poe, Twain, Lord Byron (whose life I covet), Dickens, Coltrane, Jan Garbarek, Dandy Warhols, The Warlocks, Lilys, Brian Jonestown Massacre, Lar Von Trier's masterpiece, "The Element Of Crime," Polanski's "The Tenant", the final seconds of "City Lights" when Chaplin flashes the most heartrending grin in the history of film, and... no, NO! I'm not doing this! It's degrading and humiliating. I'm not a piece of brain tissue parading my neural treasures.
Six things I could never do without
Stunning works of architecture, the Hagia Sofia, or the Pantheon.
A woman's radiant smile, accompanied by a light touch of her hand, and the warmth that floods through me.
The drumming of rain on the roof.
A dog running in her sleep.
A perfect sentence.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
I wish with all my soul I could raise a giant mallet and strike myself with such force that I'd shatter into dozens of rich, fulfilling lives, all of them lived under the most disparate of circumstances. I'd shoot one me over to early 20th century France, cavorting with Modigliani, another I'd lob into 15th century Italy (poor, beleaguered Brunelleschi could really have used a friend), a few I'd keep in the present, one focussed on robotics, one in architecture, one a novelist - all the me's that might have been... And one can never know with absolute, unshakeable certainty which life would have been the best.
On a typical Friday night I am
For years I suffered from a nameless psychological quirk, for which, with the improbable magic of a fairy tale, a word suddenly appeared when I was a student at Lund. The Swedish word is "veckovill" and means the inability to recall the day of the week. I suffer from serious veckovill. So, on a typical Friday night, I can be heard saying, "Wha'd'ya mean it's Friday? I could swear it was Wednesday."
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I have the sneaking suspicion that Better lies just beyond my grasp, but for a twitch of Fortune's smile. That for lack of a single, life-altering decision or a more finely sharpened thought or a timely inflection in my mode of existence, I might have lived more keenly, in a state of permanent, dizzying euphoria.
You should message me if
You're a kindred spirit. You want to cross another door of perception and with a outline-jarring tug, yank me through it. You haven't been to the Bradbury Building. You'll stop short of sticking a needle in my arm. Your smile is your best feature.
The two of us