A lot of who I am can be traced back to my childhood. As the son of the best female rodeo clown in the high stakes northwest region of the Florida pan handle, I learned a thing or two about rocking stools. For the most part, my life growing up was very typical. Filled with hours of whittling, taking baths in cake batter, and swilling esoteric wine, my childhood days were dizzyingly busy. Like any child, I grew up with a lot of tire irons and the slightest hint of paprika. My father was a burly beast of a midget, or as they prefer to be called, Asians, but he always made me feel small in his arms. I think he enjoyed me as his child, always seeing a little bit of himself in my left trapezius. I think everyone did.
As for now, my life feels like a whirlwind. I am trying to make a name for myself in the pre-packaged plastic meal kit industry, while at the same time trying to pursue my real passion, Domino Rally. I don’t know if I’m good enough to make money from it, but I have to have my creative outlet or I would go crazy. Some people may say that I have too little respect for the Ginko leaf and too much tread on my shoes. To those people, I have only one thing to say: You should really clean the cracks of your couch every once in a while. Sometimes there is loose change that falls out of people’s pockets and it’s not stealing if you keep it.
