The Only Real Advice You

Even As A Child I Was Fascinated By Death, Not In A Spiritual Sense, But In An Aesthetic One. A Hamster Or Guinea Pig Would Pass Away, And, After Burying The Body, I'd Dig It Back Up: Over And Over, Until All That Remained Was A Shoddy Pelt. It Earned Me A Certain Reputation, Especially When I Moved On To Other People's Pets. "igor," They Called Me. "wicked, Spooky." But I Think My Interest Was Actually Fairly Common, At Least Among Adolescent Boys. At That Age, Death Is Something That Happens Only To Animals And Grandparents, And Studying It Is Like A Science Project.

If You Are Any Kind Of An Artist, Then Validation . . . Can Be A Result, But You're Going To Do The Work Anyway.

I Like Listening To Books As Well, As That Way You Can Iron At The Same Time.

I've Been Keeping A Diary For Thirty-three Years And Write In It Every Morning. Most Of It's Just Whining, But Every So Often There'll Be Something I Can Use Later: A Joke, A Description, A Quote. It's An Invaluable Aid When It Comes To Winning Arguments. 'that's Not What You Said On February 3, 1996,' I'll Say To Someone.

On A Busy Day Twenty-two Thousand People Come To Visit Santa, And I Was Told That It Is An Elf's Lot To Remain Merry In The Face Of Torment And Adversity. I Promised To Keep That In Mind.