An avuncular suspenders wearing talk show host dubbed the patron saint of exhibitionists... the hard drinker Simone de Beauvoir wrote of, surrounded by empty and emptying bottles of scotch in a room at the Ritz, after the 1944 liberation of Paris, proclaiming Jean Paul Sartre a general, sick with the flu but "bursting with vitality." Almost absurdly English, fond of small dogs and gardening and chewing her food thoroughly, she is a muumuu wearing Parliament smoker. "Call me Nurse Ratched." When Nurse Ratched is unhappy, the patients are unhappy. She will die in London and be buried with her stuffed Shih-Tzu dog in Brompton Cemetery. Monocled, plaid-festooned gadabout, out of place in any relationship or century seeks unemployable choreographer and amateur harpist or recovering alcoholic with feeble mind. Own tap shoes an advantage. Must enjoy beards and harbour contempt for any music that isn’t Belgian jazz. Note that beneath this hostile student activist's exterior lurks a hostile student activist's interior.

Politics, Piracy, Archery, Acting.

Amon Tobin, Andrew Bird, The Arcade Fire, Arctic Monkeys, Bauhaus, Belle and Sebastian, Bjork, Bloc Party, Bob Dylan, Camera Obscura, Camille Saint-Saens, The Cure, Cursive, David Bowie, Dead Can Dance, The Decemberists, Dresden Dolls, Eliott Smith, Franz Liszt, Girl Talk, Gustav Mahler, Igor Stravinsky, Interpol, Joanna Newsom, Kraftwerk, Laurie Anderson, Morrissey, Motion City Soundtrack, The Mountain Goats, Muse, Nick Cave, Of Montreal, Rasputina, Regina Spektor, Siouxsie, The Smiths, Sufjan Stevens, The Velvet Underground.

The Valet, Once, Casablanca, A Tout Suite, La Dolce Vita, La Belle et la Bete...

CNN and CSpan are always on. I once watched Sports Night, The West Wing, and Studio 60, now I try to watch Bones, House, and Doctor Who, but I scarcely have time for television.

Far too many to list, but before I start, you should know I have my bookshelf organized chronologically and alphabetical by author within century. It is a work of art. I am overly fond of a short frenchman with brown eyes and wavy black hair and a wicked mouth capable of enchanting: Alexis de Tocqueville. My heart belongs to Cicero and Rimbaud, Palahniuk and Bukowski, Kerouac and Ginsberg.