I Was Diagnosed With A Severe Temporal

When I Was Nine Years Old, I Wrote A Short Story Called 'how To Build A Snowman,' From Which No Practical Snowperson-crafting Techniques Could Be Gleaned. The Story Was An Assignment For Class And It Featured A Series Of Careful But Meaningless Instructions. Of Course, The Building Of The Snowman Was A Red Herring.

As Most New Yorkers Have Done, I Have Given Serious And Generous Thought To The State Of My Apartment Should I Get Killed During The Day.

I Was Diagnosed With A Severe Temporal Spatial Deficit, A Learning Disability That Means I Have Zero Spatial Relations Skills. It Was Official: I Was A Genius Trapped In An Idiot's Body.

When I Was 14, A Camp Counselor Explained What "eating Out" Was And I Vowed To Never Have It Done To Me. It Seemed Cannibalistic And Unhygienic. I Also Remember That She Claimed--in Front Of An Entire Cabin Of Girls--to Have Been "eaten Out" By One Of The Maintenance Men In A Hot Tub. Under Hot Water. Either Something Is Amiss In My Memory Of This Conversation Or She Found The Most Talented Man On The Planet And All Hope Is Lost For The Rest Of Us.

I Do Think New York Prepares You For The Crossection Of Personalities And Realities On Display When You Leave The Country, And I'd Live Somewhere Else If I Had A Reason Or Burning-the-the-point-of-discomfort Desire To Do So.