Eight random facts about me

This post is inspired by Katie, who “tagged” me to share eight random facts or habits about myself. And because I’ve never been one to resist the occasional bout of structured narcissism, here we are.

My phobias are weirdly specific

• 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 tasting spoons they hand you at ice cream shops? Straight to the anxiety vault. This one traces back to sixth grade, when a kid in class spent an entire semester making that high-pitched air-sucking noise through his pen cap. That sound now lives rent-free in my nervous system.
• And while we’re on the subject: I will not share drinks. Not because I’m a germaphobe—it’s about boundaries. When someone says, “Can I have a sip of that?” I just hand them the glass and quietly mourn its loss.
• Bonus trauma: lipstick on a glass. One glimpse of that half-moon smudge and I’m ready to shut down the evening.

Being an only child makes you weird in creative ways

When you grow up without siblings, you have two options: boredom or imagination. I went with the latter—specifically, fake radio shows.

My best friend Jerry and I spent hours recording them on cassette tapes: fake commercials, fake interviews, and a surprisingly consistent cast of recurring characters.

Our most famous creation was Harry Feldman, an inventor who created “The Waterful Ring Toss” (real toy, questionable IP claim) and later discovered a chemical in human urine that made pajamas glow in the dark. We thought this was peak comedy.

I’d even pre-record ads, time them with a stopwatch, and hold in bathroom breaks to simulate live radio. I regret many things from my youth—not keeping those tapes is near the top.

My Collective Soul era

For a few years, Collective Soul wasn’t just a band—it was my entire personality.

I ran one of the first major fan websites for them back in the ’90s. It earned me backstage passes, sponsorships, and a few surreal opportunities to spend time with the band themselves. At one point, I was clocking 30+ hours a week running that site—a full-blown one-man digital street team before social media existed.

Then burnout hit. I shut it all down dramatically, only to find out a week later the band had launched their official site. My timing, as always, impeccable.

Still, that little project taught me something big: you could push on the internet, and it would move—even if just a little.

My food opinions are questionable

I love (love!) beets. Palm hearts. Jicama. Those tiny baby corns you find in salads and Chinese food. Basically, the backup dancers of the produce aisle. Someone has to cheer for the underdogs.

The trailer for Eight Below made wrecked me

I don’t know what to tell you. It’s about sled dogs. There’s snow. There’s loyalty. I cried in the theater and again every time I saw the trailer on TV.

You can psychoanalyze that if you want. I’ve already made peace with it.

That time I met Scottie Pippen

Seventh grade. The Bulls had just won their first title. I, ever the contrarian, was decked out in full Lakers gear.

Scottie still gave me an autograph—which is to say, I met greatness and survived it.

Bonus content: that same trip, I also met Jimmy Connors. No autograph, but still. Strong week for young me.

I once covered the City Hall and Homicide beats

During my summers at The Brownsville Herald, I usually covered sports. But one year, fate had other plans.

The reporter who covered City Hall and the homicide beat got fired the day before I showed up for my internship—and just like that, I was handed both.

One day I’d be writing about pothole budgets; the next, I’d be standing at a crime scene wondering how, exactly, I ended up there. It was equal parts fascinating and deeply unsettling.

Nothing like toggling between autopsy reports and zoning ordinances to keep you humble—or maybe just slightly numb.

I wish I were a professional soccer player

I didn’t start playing until adulthood, but if I could do life over, I’d chase that path in a heartbeat. There’s something about the rhythm of the game—the movement, the flow, the near-misses—that feels like therapy in motion.

The pro window may have closed, but the dream still laces up on Saturday mornings.