Nr.Dick was conceived around the end of September 1981, after a night of swilling champagne and listening to the leaves rustle in the trees. He has remained an outdoorsman with a fondness for the good things in life ever since.
He left the womb on June 22, 1982, at an undisclosed time - undisclosed on the advice of his paranoid, astrology believing friends. He is a bastard.
This is the same day as two people he mildy admires- John Dillinger, and Kris Kristofferson. However, he isn't too interested in them, apart from reading their Wikipedia entries.
If someone would like to introduce Nr.Dick to the music of Mr. Christofferson, or sent him interesting tidbits about JD or other persons born on the 22 of June, he would be pleased.
Not that I believe in any of that - of course.
About my moniker - My first name is Nick -yes ladies, that's short for Nicholas: the patron saint of sailors, children, prospective prostitutes, theives (Saint Nicholas of Myra), and many wondrous locations I have never had the audacity to visit - such as Greece.
The fact that his relics are buried in Bari does not surprise me. From his relations of his Italian sojourns, I take it this was my father's favorite spot in Italy - especially the hitch-hike their.
It's also where you can take the ferry to Greece - a great adventure in itself, especially if you are, like he was for many years, a professor of Ancient Greek language, literature and history.
He grew up in mostly in Montreal, particularly NDG where he was a member of a child gang - which primarily concentrated on beating up kids from the next block. He also made lifelong friends there with some French Canadians AKA Québecois - which lead to his becoming a translator, including of such notable works as the FLQ Manifesto and the Asbestos Strike, by future Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau. Though this might lead some, such as the RCMP to conclude that my father was, and is a leftist, in fact he a man of his own center - an independent, shall we say.
So my dad is a genuis - he was the highest graded male student to graduate high school in Quebec in 1959. Discovering his report cards while I was in high school was something of a traumatising experience.
My mom, on the other hand, is an angel - a messenger. She introduced me to the power of prayer - which was a totally psychodelic experience for me, when I was six. I began to have vivid dreams of flying through multicoloured tunnels. This feeling of motion while being still would not reccur until the third time I smoked marijuana, which occured with the head of my church server's guild. It was five bowls of some really good stuff - smoked out of a peace pipe acquired at a Navajo reservation in Arizona. I know this was likely blashemous use of the pipe - so I apologize. We started out with traditional sagebrush and listened to a beautiful CD called How the West Was Lost. Then we listened to the doctor who sountrack. All in a blacklit dungeon room, adorned with Iron Maiden Eddy posters and a red emergency strobe light. I lay back in my wicker chair and flew for what seemed like many, many hours, straight into outer space. In fact it couldn't have been more than the length of the CD, but such is the nature of time. If this kind of stuff interests you, you might want to read about the Eight Circuit Model of Consciousness.
But honestly, drugs suck - they landed me in a hospital twice. Even just the combination of Mary Jane, Alcohol, anxiety, and sleeplessness. I'm sick of people saying any kind of experimentation is fine. If you want to try drugs, go to a town with a university and volunteer for a clinical trial. You may have to lie and say you've been doing the drug for a year or something, but I'd rather you lie than get drugs off the street and use them in an unsupervised setting. Or at least find a doctor who is willing to prescribe you the medication, and have a sober friend you trust be your trip-sitter.
I'd advise fasting, vigil, prayer, listening to music, baths, participating in drum circles, or at last resort, engaging the services of a reputable shaman or hypnotist for those seeking paranormal experiences. Or how about just dreaming?
But enough about that- how about my Mom? She grew up in Brooklyn, in a formerly middle class turned working class home - actually, they are the same thing, if you ask me. (What middle class person do you know who doesn't work? Excluding your college roomate).
They lost their status because the great depression nearly killed her father. He lost his small business and became an alcoholic - and was never the same. She didn't even know him growing up. As their were six children, his loss was quite a blow to the family. Such was the way of things before the advent of easy to use and socially acceptable birth control techniques.
My favorite birth control method is the million-dollar-spot. I wouldn't recommend using this alone with a partner though, unless you're sure about STIs and you're willing to accept the consequences of unwanted pregnancy.
My mom was a montessori teacher before becoming my Dad's reluctant business manager.
Enough about them though - I am me.
You don't know me, but I do.
Too bad for you. But don't worry, you have you're own me to get to know. My advice - look up the etymology of advice. But doubt that it's correct. Try ad vice - literally towards it conquers.
Remember that even if Jesus doesn't love you - someone does.
Oh, and Galileo was wrong - I am the centre of the universe, not the sun. What a retard! Way to go Pope Urban VIII! And hey, if it wasn't for your banning the guy, would he have ever become the "father of modern science" - mysterious ways, indeed.
Actually, I don't think he was the father of today's modern science, of which 95%+ of research is funded by the militaries of the world and profit-seeking corporations. Saying that would be an insult.
Coming from Albert Einstein and Isaac Newton, it was a compliment.
From scientists post WWII - utterly disparaging.
That is history for you - occasionaly ironic.
