Diary of a Wolfeman

—————————-
Miscellaneous Wolfe-ly Facts

I am furry. I can go from clean-shaven to a nicely trimmed beard in about 9 days. The beard starts at my cheekbones and stops just above my ankles.

I have two children: Pookie, my daughter and my son the Ratboy. She is blonde as a wheat field with pale skin and gunmetal/blue eyes. He is brown haired, hazel eyed and slightly larger than me – with at least two inches worth of height left to grow. (And smug as hell about it.) They were born in ’88 and ’99 respectively, you do the math.

I’m a member of a dying breed: the Jack Of All Trades. In today’s marketplace, specialists are everywhere, but Jacks are becoming less common. Most of what I have learned in the past few years has been because I got tired of waiting for someone else to do something so I could finish my job; I learned their task and did it for them in usually less than half the time.

I am a terrible passenger. My favorite mode of transportation is a motorcycle – a vehicle where every movement of my body affects my direction, speed, stability – the closest thing I’ve found yet to a true man-machine interface. As a passenger in a car, I feel lost. So, no matter where we’re going or how many people are in the group, I drive my car too.

The current trends of the fashion industry come close to making me sick. They show me pictures of these tiny little girls and tell me that this is what women are supposed to look like. Bullshit. Straight roads and flat women are no fun. Cultures the world over who have no regular contact with popular media will 99 times out of 100 point to the size 12 woman in a lineup and pick her as the ‘sexy’ one. Marilyn Monroe, at her prime, was a size 16 – and nobody questions her sex appeal.

I can (or more likely could) play the saxophone, but I have absolutely no musical talent; I can merely operate the machine called a sax. Air pressure P applied to tensioned reed will cause reed to vibrate, tension T of the reed will determine vibration frequency and thus audio generation. Pressing the keys of the sax changes the volume V of the sounding chamber of the instrument, thus altering pitch. You have no worry about ever hearing me at Carneghie Hall.

I have never committed a major crime, though I have planned many against fictional targets as mental exercises. (Hey, everyone’s got a hobby; my ex reads serial killer biographies…)

I am not a neat freak – I am an organized slob.

One day in Portland, early in the summer of 1992, I sat down in front of a Commodore 64 computer with a 1200 baud modem and logged into an SCA BBS. It was my first use of the handle ‘Cyberwolfe’. Eventually, I started running across imitators and was forced to add the ‘the’ for distinction’s sake.

Yes, my child – once, 1200 baud was considered ‘fast’.

I have lately become addicted to crossword puzzles. $0.35 a day for the funnies and puzzle at lunch. Some days I finish the puzzle, some days I don’t. This is just the local daily, mind you – I haven’t worked up to the NY Times edition yet.

While I am theoretically polyamorous, recent history has pointed out to me that I simply don’t have the time and energy to manage two relationships at once. There is simply too much complication in what I would hope to be an un-complicated portion of my life. So, barring the occasional (approved by my lover) one-nighter, I’m a one-woman guy from here on out.

For those that didn’t catch the clue in the previous paragraph, I am what my friends and I jokingly refer to as “flamingly HETEROsexual”. The only time I would ever even consider sleeping with a man is if I could somehow switch bodies with my girlfriend for the weekend. No, I am not some sort of repressed closet-case, it is simply that I have never ever met or seen a man I thought was cute enough to kiss. Trust me on this, I’ve met alot of drag queens in my wanderings and the verdict stands.

————————————————————-
And now, for more test silliness: the ubiquitous purity test!

—————————————————————-

—
The Cyberwolfe
—————————————————————-
Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid. — Han Solo