Who is this guy, anywyay?

With a name like mine, you might think people would call me Keb’ Bo’. But nobody does.

1962. The depths of the cold war. President Kennedy playing chicken with Leonid Brezhnev in Cuba. Beatlemania sweeping the nation. Martin Luther King marching on Washington. Or was that later? Beats me; back then I was helpless, stupid, and naked. I try to wear clothes most of the time now.

However, I digress.

Under the turquoise skies of the American southwest, a child was born. Perhaps someday I'll meet him—I was born in Michigan. But before I could say “Jack Robinson” the flying fickle finger of fate would find me under that impossibly blue southwestern sky, far from the many close friends I would have made if I hadn’t moved before I learned to talk.

It was a hardscrabble existence. I was none too good at chess either. But the skiiing was good. I took to the slopes like a duck takes to snow. (Warren Miller, please report to the lift line immediately.)

Really, if you like the outdoors, Flagstaff is a great place to grow up. Or maybe it’s the other way round. Especially living at Lowell Observatory, with the Coconino National Forest as a backyard.

Then I went off to college, worked for a famous engineer, and went back to grad school, where I spent four years working with a guy who’s so smart he should have a Nobel Prize. Now I work for a well-known government agency building X-ray astronomy satellites, which sometimes end up in orbit, and sometimes end up in the ocean.

Of late, I've been working on the second attempt at Astro-E, performing community theater, and playing bass for area band Naked Singularity.

I haven’t read the rest of the story yet.

What’s he like?

What do I like? I'm so glad you asked. Here’s a list, in no particular order, of things that prove He, or She, or It, loves us and wants us to be happy.

Do I know him from somewhere?

If the following phrases mean anything to you, the answer is probably yes.

If you want to double-check, email me. Note that this address is for personal corrspondence only. Spammers will be canned and left in a dusty cabinet for years and years.

Up, up, and back home!

Don’t take life so serious. It ain’t nohow permanent.
  —Walt Kelly