Biographical Sketch
I was born, apparently, on April 21st, 1987. This figure is understandably rather difficult to personally verify, and I myself dispute it, arguing that I was never in fact born but rather sprung out of my father's cranium. My version of events has been widely, and unfairly, dismissed. I am the son of two educators. My father is the International Chess Master Larry D. Evans, not to be confused with the International Chess Grand-Master Larry M. Evans, a far superior player. Other than a short felonious stint as an Art Salesman, he has lived out his days by teaching chess to adults and children, sometimes in coordination with the public schools, but often not. My mother earned her Bachelor's Degree in having my father write her assignments from Queen's College, and then earned a Master's Degree in Education from Hunter College. She taught public education, focusing on special education and infant education, until 2007, when she retired to work more hours in the same job for less money. Both parents have waged a constant and losing battle with an increasingly uninterested administration, rarely winning.
By most accounts I was born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida - just outside of Miami; appropriately I have nursed a life-long loathing for beaches, sunlight and early-bird specials. My father was at the time lying low to avoid a federal investigation related to the Dali Art Scandal. His company, Berkeley Gallery, sold limited edition prints by Salvador Dali. When it was revealed that Dali had lied about the number of prints created the scheme fell through, but fortunately he and his partner could show due diligence, avoiding the worst of the legal storm. My mother was at the time pursuing her life-long love: spending money. For the first few months of my life I lived in this idyllic existence. My father insisted on taking my to amusement parks and the local sights, to the ire of his prudent friends. He explained that although I might not understand anything, I seemed to like the lights. He must have been right - apparently my favorite childhood place was the super-market. This period has left with a deep fear of fluorescent neon and low-fat milk. After a few months we decided Florida was too hot a climate, so we gave the beach house to my paternal grandparents and moved to colder pastures - the Arizona desert, to be precise. Tucson was apparently no more interesting than Florida, so we moved a few months later to Carlsbad, San Diego. My mother worked with her sister in an accounting business; my father dedicated himself to avoiding prison.