When I was young my parents made me cut my own hair. It never looked very good, but somehow people were always able to recognise me. I always thought it was because of my birthmark, which covered most of my face and looked kinda like a map of Uruguay, with a mole right where Montevideo should be. I eventually had the mole removed, but people still knew who I was. Bastards. Today, my hair has grown back, and the birthmark has faded into near-nothingness, but people still call me ‘Uruguay Head’. Then I usually have to eat them, because I really don’t like that sort of thing. I do like strawberry ice cream, though. That’s good stuff. It’s like croutons, but different. I wonder what the guy who invented croutons was doing that caused him to call them that. Maybe he was walking barefoot and just stepped on a piece of toast and said, “Oh, Crouton!” (because that was a popular swear word in 18th century France – it roughly meant “holy fucking ow”.)
I’d like to state for the record that none of the above is true, but if you actually read it all, then I apologize for the odd whistling sound in your head which is probably your brain unraveling.
The truth is, I am a British-American living in Fort Myers, Florida (formerly in Rochester, NY). I have a wife and son who bring me joy and laughter with every passing day, a guitar and a computer in opposite color schemes, and a long-suffering iPod classic. I am several categories of geek, and unashamedly so.
If you feel the need to contact me over any of my scribblings, I can be emailed (comment here for address) or Tweeted (@kolys).