There's A Tradition In American Fiction That

I'm An Older, Wall-eyed, Overweight, Tweedy Writer Who Has Been Lucky Enough To Be Asked To Play Various Iterations Of Himself In A Certain Realm Of Popular Cultutre. That Gives Me Great Joy And Excitement, But I Don't Go To The Media Saying, "and I'm Also The World's Greatest Actor."

The Only Time I've Ever Been Mistaken For Someone Else Is - And This Arguable Still - When A Person Came Up To Me On The Boardwalk Of Ocean City, New Jersey And Said, "you Look A Lot Like That Guy From Computer Ads" And I Said, "there Is A Reason Because I Am That Guy," And The Guy Looked At Me For A Minute, Laughed And Said, "that's A Funny Joke, But You Really Do Look Like Him." He Thought I Was Not Me.

I Realized That Even In A World Of Proliferating Media Venues, Online And In Print, And On Tv And On Countless Cable Channels, The Idea That I Could Be Considered An Expert On Chronic Knee Pain Was I Think Troubling For Society, But Very Exciting For Me.

I Don't Watch Television. And Certainly Not Ads; I Loathe Advertising.

My Memories Of Literary Agenting Are Of A Very Happy Time And There Are Surprising Reminders Of It Coming Back Now.