This post is inspired by Katie who “tagged” me to post 8 random facts or habits about myself. Like many of us, I can’t always resist indulging my narcissistic urges. So here goes.
I have a series of odd phobias.
- I refuse to touch other people’s jewelry, especially rings and earrings. Is this normal? Probably not, but nothing says “hard pass” quite like someone handing you a moist earring back.
- Plastic silverware and straws? Absolutely not. The tiny plastic spoons they give you at ice cream shops? Straight to the anxiety bank. This one goes back to sixth grade, when I had to listen to a kid sucking air through the top of his pen cap like it was a milkshake. That sound still haunts my nightmares. Shudder.
- I will not share drinks, with the sole exception of Shelley. When someone says, “Can I have a sip of that?” I hand them the glass and quietly mourn the loss of the beverage. This isn’t about germs, it’s about boundaries. We have them for a reason, people.
- Lipstick on a glass is an instant gag trigger for me. One glimpse of that smudged lipstick mark, and I’m ready to call it a day.
Life as an only child spawned some…creative hobbies.
When you’re an only child, you have to make your own fun. For me, that meant creating fake radio shows in my bedroom with my best friend, Jerry. Fake products with fake commercials, interviewing fake guests, doing dozens of impersonations, a variety of voices, and even a recurring character or three.
One of our recurring characters was an inventor named “Harry Feldman”. In our little world of fiction—Harry invented a children’s toy called “The Waterful Ring Toss” and later accidentally discovered a chemical in human urine that made pajamas glow in the dark. This was the pinnacle of 12-year-old humor.
Sometimes, I would pre-record commercials at certain segments of the cassette and set my stopwatch so I could take commercial breaks at specific times. If I had to go to the bathroom, I would just have to wait for a commercial. This is how I simulated live radio in my bedroom.
This went on for years. I wish I still had those tapes …
Collective Soul was my entire personality for a while.
There was a time when Collective Soul wasn’t just a band—they were a lifestyle. If the lead singer stubbed his toe, I knew about it. If anyone dared suggest they were anything less than perfect, I would gently (and sometimes not so gently) guide them back to the correct path of musical appreciation.
This obsession wasn’t without its perks, though. I took my first steps into the world of web design by creating a fan site for the band. It wasn’t just a fan site—it became one of the most popular on the web. That little corner of the internet earned me backstage passes, sponsor deals, and the kind of insider connections that led to me spending time with the band themselves. At the peak of my C-list internet celebrity, I had a small but fervent following of fellow Collective Soul devotees who thought I was some kind of web guru (I wasn’t).
This was also the first time I realized the sheer power of the internet—back in the 90s, when it was still in its infancy. It was wild to think that you could push against the world, and it would move, even if just a little.
But reality has a way of interrupting even the best-laid digital plans. After spending over 30 hours a week on the site, exhaustion finally caught up with me, and I dramatically pulled the plug. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I was burnt out. As it turned out, the timing was perfect—about a week later, they launched their official website, and overnight, fan sites like mine became digital fossils.
I still have a deep affection for Collective Soul, but now in a much more “I’m not embarrassing to be seen with in public” sort of way.
Random food love.
Let’s just say I have some niche food obsessions. Beets, palm hearts, jicama, and those tiny baby corns that come in salads sometimes? Love them all. It’s weird, I know, but someone has to champion the underdogs of the vegetable world.
The trailer for Eight Below made me tear up.
I was sitting in the theater, popcorn in hand, when the trailer for Eight Below started playing. I wasn’t prepared for the emotional onslaught that followed. My eyes welled up right there in the middle of a crowded theater, and I had no idea why. And it didn’t stop there—every time I caught the trailer on TV afterward, I teared up all over again. Something about those dogs just got to me, every single time.
That time I met Scottie Pippen.
In seventh grade, I met Scottie Pippen right after the Bulls won their first title. I was a die-hard Lakers fan at the time, proudly sporting my Lakers hat and t-shirt. But despite my questionable fashion choices, Scottie still gave me an autograph. And thus, I managed to walk away from that encounter without getting dunked on.
Bonus: On the same trip, I also met tennis legend Jimmy Connors. No autographs from him, but still a win for 12-year-old me.
I once covered the City Hall and Homicide beats.
I spent several summers at the Brownsville Herald, usually covering sports. But one summer, we decided to mix it up, and I found myself reporting on everything from city budgets to—you guessed it—dead bodies. It was a weird mix of mundane council meetings and disturbing crime scenes. If you ever need someone to explain both financial reports and autopsy results, I’m your guy.
I wish I were a professional soccer player.
Despite not picking up soccer until I was an adult, it has quickly become one of the great joys of my life. If I could, I’d swap my career for a life of cleats and goalposts in a heartbeat. Sure, the pro-athlete window might have closed years ago, but a guy can dream, right?
