Back in rural Ireland, when my Grandmother was driving a donkey to the church to have my Mother baptized, the donkey got startled and ran up a small road that ran alongside the church. My Grandmother was unable to control the donkey, which pulled her, the wooden, cart and my newborn mother up the road, before stopping at a small house. The lights came on inside, and three nuns emerged from the house. This was their quarters. My Grandmother was very superstitious, and she took the fact tha the donkey brought her there to be a sign from heaven. It was God saying that my Mother was supposed to be a nun. So when my Mom was 16 my Grandmother sent her off to the convent. The convent then sent her to the USA. In the USA, my Mother felt suddenly free. She realized she never wanted to be a nun. So, much to the chagrin of everyone back in Ireland, she ran away from the convent, met my father at an Irish dance hall, and got married. Their first born son was born on Halloween. That's me. Hi!
My Dad drinks his whiskey straight from the bottle. He just can't wait! He throws his head back and take these greedy slugs, his sweaty neck pulsating once for every gulp. Me? I'm nothing like my Dad. In fact, I think he's kind of a big jerk! No drinking straight from the bottle for me. I like my whiskey in a glass. With some ice (if you don't mind!).
Seriously. You want to know about me? Google my name, and you'll learn the following: The 2002 Disney film Treasure Planet, an animated science fiction version of Treasure Island, depicts John Silver as a cyborg.
OK. OK. Through fucking around now. Ready? Here comes some real shit. 100% up front. Here we go. My thing is that I am unable to hide my emotions. There they are on my face as plain as a butter sandwich.
Before he had me escorted out, my ex-employer summed it up. "Hey Silver - know what your problem is? People can tell when you don't like them. You sit there turning red like a baby with gas. And in this line of work (table dancing) THAT is a liability."
Right then my skin started to burn and he (my ex-employer) said " See! You're doing it now!"
UPDATE:But he won't be cruelly pointing out anyone's shortcomings for a while. Because he found out the hard way why they call me The Scrambler.
I usually like to start with a joke, but in this case I thought honesty would be preferable. The truth is that I am a terrible liar. I just can't hide it! "Dissembling", "Obfuscation", "Prevarication" - these words are NOT in my vocabulary. (Where they came from just now is anyone's guess!)
Honest to a fault - That is SO me. But you know what I say: When life hands you lemons, put the juice of them into squirter bottles and send it in stinging streams back into the eyes of life. That's my motto!
When you shake my hand, there are two things you'll notice. One is the considerable power of my grip, the other is the almost paradoxical softness of my hands. The flesh of my hands is as tender and pink as a newborn mouse.
My forbears were men of action - their hands were covered with callouses. They built their homes out of the bones of their enemies and carved lutes out of driftwood they found just lying around. And so of course their hands were rough like stone. But I make my living with what I've got up here. (was tapping my temple with my index finger as I typed that last sentence). And so my hands have remained soft. So please don't be surprised at their tenderness when we shake hands.
But if you are a line butter, a flake, a "Burning Man Enthusiast" (the kind who just won't SHUT UP ALREADY about it), or Mr. Jack Chang - you will never notice the almost paradoxical softness of my skin, for I REFUSE TO SHAKE YOUR HAND.
If I had to pick a favorite epitaph of an ancient Roman senator (like if you put a gun to my head and forced me to select a fave), it would be the one that goes "Never had I friend or enemy / who was not repaid in full. Yup that's pretty much my motto.
I'm having a love affair with chimichurri sauce. It's from Argentina and it is as versatile as it is zesty. You just put it into things and WOW suddenly you've got a restaurant quality dish. And speaking of food, my favorite meal is breakfast. It's the meal when everything seems possible. One day I hope to open a small breakfast place and there will be a model train track connecting all the tables on which a little choo-choo will travel delivering varieties of warm syrup to my happy patrons.
Should you have any questions, comments or concerns... the answer is NO!