Just before midnight on March 27th, 1981, in a hospital in Hollywood, Florida, a beautiful baby boy was born. One room over, Joseph Pustizzi was also born, only I had an odd smell and significantly more hair. Sort of like a malodorous Tom Jones. Nothing exciting happened during the next several years except lots of sleeping and bouts of uncontrollable crying. Well, the crying is still kind of a problem today, but I'm seeing a professional about that. At five I entered the catholic school system, which I'm told is the reason nuns are known to drink so much. Making sure to offend the church on a daily basis, I was quickly voted "class clown" by my peers in both grade school and high school (see "Credentials" link). I believe in literature, that's called "foreshadowing." I was something of a mischevious youth. The picture above was taken of me at three years old at one of my, now illegal, "Baby Rodeos." Well into puberty, the mischief continued. If I was quiet for too long, you knew there was a good chance that the neighbors cat was on fire...again. As I entered my later teen years, I began to tone down my wild behavior, because as the great George Carlin once said, "at 18 the state can legally execute me." While I may have grown up physically, I certainly did not mature much mentally (as evidenced by this picture of me in Central Park in 2004). They say that at night, if you listen real closely, you can still hear the White Rabbit crying over his lost dignity. It was this complete lack of maturity that made stand-up comedy the natural choice.