I have no desire to provide pictures of myself mugging for the camera in any state of dress; there is no need to detail how I got every scar on my various torgoesque knees. Who I am is manifest in many ways throughout the web site. Those who read carefully will see part of me; those who do not will look really foolish in their reviews of the site.

I am famed for many things, not the least of which is my coinage of the phrase "sharking for parking" (the act of aggressively circling around and around and around waiting for a parking space to open up) and the creation of the sewer rat metaphor. I have and have had many names and titles in my lifetime. I rarely get 8 hours of sleep, and rarely spend less than 13 hours at work. Needless to say, I'm chronically tired. I'm tired of postponing happiness, and I'm tired of the way garbage keeps winding up on the lawn in front of my patio. I am a spinster, and I recruit. Spinsterhood is where it's at, baby. The culmination of a life-long dream, the achievement of spinsterhood is everything it's cracked up to be. A comfortable independent life of books, feline, fish, garden, oven, music, knitting, and fireplace. If it weren't for this accursed job thing, life would be ideal.

My favorite English professor once said, half-jokingly, that the world can be seperated into people who loved Jane Austen and those who loved Charlotte Bronte. Like him, I'm an Austen-ophile. As an eight year old, I immediately connected to Elizabeth Bennet; as I grew up, I began to view Lady Catherine "And that, I suppose, was your mother?" DeBurgh as a personal herioine. I never quite emotionally saw Healthcliff's appeal, much less Catherine's.

His comment got me to thinking about the other great questions whose answers loosely define us into two camps (and we'll all pretend not to notice the people to whom the question - for one reason or another - doesn't apply). I prefer the Addams over the Munsters, water colors over oils, and Brenda alone, not playing ping-pong. Sushi beats curry, Conan's the only funny one on late night (and that's even hit and very much miss), and my cat can kick most dog's butts (and has!). I vote, I read for pleasure, I went to Smith. Pissaro was the best of the impressionists, Cassandra Wilson is the best of the modern jazz singers, and I don't put butter on my sandwiches.