: About Me

Hello. I'm The Notorious H.A.M. You may remember me from such educational films as "Getting The Most From Your Rod: Secrets of Master Baiting" and "Global Warming: Nebraska Needs A Beach." But for the first time, I am offering my fans a chance to see past all the glitter and hype - today, The Notorious H.A.M. is baring it all just for you, my adoring public. Here's a glimpse at the real me:

I grew up in Texas, lived in Las Vegas for several years, and I recently transplanted to Hong Kong to pursue a PhD. The HK experience shook me like a snow globe, so now I'm headed back to LV to regroup (And do you think Hey Ya! would have been as big a hit for Outkast if he had requested that we shake it like snow globes? Hmmm...probably not.). I think I'm just an ordinary gal, but ordinary is relative I suppose. Ok then, here's a few more details: I almost always root for underdogs, I always choose to keep hearing when someone asks that hypothetical question about giving up eyesight or hearing (because I can't imagine a world without music), I was 2nd chair clarinet in high school, I can do the voice of Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons almost perfectly, I don't stand for a lot of things, mostly because I prefer sitting, I love love love American football, I hate mopping and cleaning bathrooms, but I don't mind dishes and ironing. I'm very political but I despise party lines. I also hate blind faith in anything. I figure, if you question everything about something and you still come back to it, then you've really got something. Ok, getting a little too heavy here. How about this? I'm almost completely housebroken, I love bacon, my sense of humor is all over the place (but adequate, I'm told), I love inclement weather, I wear a US size 9.5 shoe, I need a new watch, I can't believe how humid it is in HK, and beer is proof that god loves us and wants us to be happy. Ok, that last part was Ben Franklin, not me, but it's still true.

Keep on truckin',
The Notorious H.A.M.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Closed doors

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The Vault An ear pressed soundly to the door, his fingers twisted, listening for the click. The click. That lovely click which pitches forth the gain inside. He dialed, and smiled, secure in the notion that patience was key. But the hours passed, and then the days. He became a gambler, coin after coin fed furiously into an unrelenting reservoir. He was a window shopper, nose longingly to the pane of a darkened store - held there by the length of some poor half-wit's lunch hour. This sentience sobered him - desist in twisting, and someone else will purchase his trinket, will take home his t...

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