BIO AND BIBLIO
I’ll probably never be an important enough writer, heard by enough people or ever making much of an impact ( this leaves aside the obvious fact that as we head into an extinction level event the last thing anyone is going to do is use any author of any import for anything other than their pages as toilet paper and firestarter ) to actually warrant a biography or a bibliography, but hope springs eternal our oxygen wasn’t entirely wasted and so I’m going to put forth a modest effort to record for prosperity. I’ve wanted to do this for some time, if for no other reason it is something a bit different. Believe me, I ain’t impressing anyone with the dubious life I’ve led. But I’ve always enjoyed reading of authors motivations and backgrounds. And it is all about me, so here goes.
My childhood was a rather happy one. Little angst or drama until the teenage years- and those barely count as the teenage construct is an artificial one and unnatural in every way and hence one can’t be blamed for acting as a trapped rat in a laboratory, now can one? My earliest memory was at two or three ( born 1965, so 67 or 68 ) when I left my breakfast to race down the street and ask a neighbor kid if he wanted to share my banana I was putting on my cereal of frosted flakes. The rude bastard obviously gave an answer that upset me and there was societies first nail in the coffin of my hatred and discontent. Next thing I knew I was five years old and we were living in the southern California desert way out of LA ( born in the city, moving from one small burg to the other [ the city was small enough then that I was born in the same hospital room as my mother had been ] until this one to the boonies ). Leona Valley if anyone can find it on the map- something I haven’t even bothered doing. This was a wonderful time other than being traumatized by a rattlesnake about twice as big as I was, a fear I’ve never managed to shake since. This bastard was so big, or else my growth had been stunted from those corn flakes, I ran crying to Mom and begged her not to go outside where I knew the evil Lucifer serpent awaited her ( probably one of the few times I showed her a lot of concern- I was a rather self absorbed brat ). But this was a time of full size GI Joe dolls and running about the countryside and even the fall from the jungle jim on to my head was all good since I got to go home early and watch Mr. Magoo cartoons. Nowadays I probably would have been care-flighted to LA and given CAT scans. Then things were a bit more formal.
As my dad was working for the state as a youth consoler, we didn’t stay in one place much more than two years. Next we moved up to the northern California coast at Fort Bragg ( the town, not the military base three thousand miles yonder ). I remember a leaking septic tank and having to get a shot for that- and letting everyone know out in the waiting room how much that hurt with my caterwauling. But I also remember a wonderful adventure just a block or two away when the foster kids built a fort-underground mind you. And plentiful fresh seafood. Yep, the state used to be so uncrowded a modest home was just off the beach and there was excess fish nearly given away. This was also a time I kept stapling my thumb. Don’t ask me why. I kept getting an open stapler and putting a metal staple partially into my flesh. Hey, I can’t control what memories survive. Like the only TV I remember then was Mutual Of Omaha running animal shows and “Emergency”. Next time, I’ll start at age ten in 1975 and we’ll go from there.
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