You’re born; they change your diapers; you eat popsicles; you go to school; you fall in love; you get your heart broken; you go to more school; you fall in love a bunch more times and pretty soon your heart is all duct-taped together like a vintage Dodge Coronet in Havana; you get a job; you start paying off your student loans knowing full well you may have to change your identity at some point but you decide to put it off since nobody seems to be following you in a big black van or anything. You eat cookies and overcooked steaks and portobello mushrooms because you live in San Francisco and if you thumb your nose at a portobello, well, you're not going to be invited to any more parties. You write stuff; you draw stuff; and before you know it, people are paying you to design stuff, and you decide life's pretty good and that's when you notice the van in your rearview mirror. But I digress. Does anybody actually read this crap?