Jäsensauerruben

Nearly all of the books I've accumulated over the years-- from the comfortable old softcover copy of the Outermost House and that copy of Gunnar Ekelof's Selected Poems that I got when my school was throwing it out, to the huge and haphazardly edited volumes of fringe-of-the-fringe UFO info I was given by a math professor and flying-saucer-enthusiast I made friends with-- are in another state, in I'm not sure what condition. Now my library is made up almost entirely of books I picked up at Boomerang and Goodwill for a buck or two a pop, or grabbed from free-boxes on the side of the street. So it's slightly eclectic.

I live in Jamaica Plain, and until the end of October at least, I write banal, skim-overable crap for pay. If it makes you feel any better, the pay is really crummy. I've also sold cheese, washed dishes, scanned old books, installed insulation at sub-zero temperatures-- fahrenheit! and yes, that is a really stupid idea!-- and danced around in puppet suits.

Something of an autodidact I guess.