Any interests I have time for are usually outdoors. You know, hiking the Alaskan wilderness and all that crap.
Music
I like everything except country and western, but prefer the type of melodies you listen to when you're tearing down walls with a sledgehammer. But techno/industrial has a place in my heart too.
Movies
Anything with science fiction, or action, or comedy, or boobs.
Television
LOST, Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek, Weeds, Sarah Silverman, Rome, or anything with boobs. Reality shows suck.
Books
I've burned a few.
Heroes
This is a true story: A few years ago I was on an interview panel and one interviewee was particularly nervous. One of the interview questions was, "Who is your hero, and why?" In his anxiety he blurted out, "Brad Pitt". While I don't know what thought process was going on in his head when he said that, he had to deal with the second part of the question: Why was Brad Pitt his hero? He took a deep breath, the color left his face, and he then proceeded to explain why Brad Pitt was his hero. I think it was mutually understood from that point on that he wasn't going to get the job and the remainder of the questions were just a formality. While I don't remember that guy's name... for sticking it out like he did and defending Brad Pitt as his choice of hero... that interviewee is MY hero.
About me: where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy... the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess in the insane lament. My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds... pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
Who I'd like to meet: Jesus. Let me rethink that... he came back from the dead and zombies scare the crap out of me.
