About
Born in New York.
Grew up with anthropologist as father and ESL teacher as mother.
Spent parts of childhood in Hong Kong, Australia, Venezuela and Philippines, but most of all on the prairies of Canada and then the deep, deep south of Mississippi.
Went to University of Chicago and met many tortured souls.
Fit right in.
Spent college and grad school interning at any newspaper that would take him in.
Eventually ended up at the Los Angeles Times, working mostly as a roving state reporter. Was given chance to see up close what craziness looks like (e.g. a man surviving six nails in the head, Arnold Schwarznegger made governor, a whirlwind month in which gay marriage was briefly legal in San Francisco, Michael Jackson arriving in court, crowds of Jackson-look-a-likes dancing as Michael Jackson arrived in court).
Then went to work as main rewrite man for the Baltimore Sun (as in “Quick, Johnny, get me rewrite!”).
Was disappointed when no one used the phrase.
Wrote about a satanically-named street in Howard County (dire times in the suburbs), Baltimore’s Chinatown (on life support) and the usual mayhem of the “Greatest City in America” (slogan: Believe).
Arrived at the Washington Post in 2005 and became married man a year later — two events that have led to considerable happiness. Now spend free time doing dishes, going grocery shopping and other delightful chores previously undiscovered as bachelor.
In day job, contributed to Pulitzer-winning coverage of Virginia Tech shootings and foraged for stories of oddity and grace throughout D.C. and Maryland.
Recently became an avid watcher of ABC’s Lost (”avid” meaning hours may have been spent pursuing theories about the island, the characters, and, of course, the meaning of life itself).
Have revealed too much.
