Hello POF people!

You know how some people say "read my profile before contacting me"? Well, perhaps in my case, it would be better if you just looked at the pictures. I guess I never paid attention to that "Less is More" line.

I have a couple different theories on these POF profiles. Sometimes I feel that it's best that I actually speak to the person and forget trying to give an accurate portrayal of myself in a small white box. So I write next to nothing and hope that the ridiculous model faces that I am making in my photos will attract my ideal. Other times, I say, hey, maybe a shirtless photo of me standing next to a car that I don't own will do the trick. A lot of men on here seem to think so. Other times, I write very witty blurbs that make me laugh (at least) but lots of people don't even get that I'm kidding and so the hate mail piles up. And once in a long long while, I write something slightly true and honest. Yah, and those never work.

So, I was born and grew up in Canada although I moved to California from Hong Kong, where I was living/working. No I do not speak French fluently even though I lived in Montreal. Particularly when French in Canada does not sound quite so lovely as the stuff you hear waiters sprouting off in movies or in that season of 90210 when Brenda went to Paris. Actually, I am sort of embarrassed to admit that not only did I fail French in High School, I also failed French in summer school after High School. But I do know the difference between Camembert and Brie if that's important. And I can watch French and Italian films and sort of know what's going on even with my eyes partially closed. Oh yes, I also lived in Italy and studied Italian there. Mama mia. I even (this is really true) bumped into my long lost relatives in Sicily on the street, within 30 minutes of arriving. Crazy right? I lived with them until one of my cousins (never the hot one) fell in love with me and the parents started shining up their shotgun (it's called a Lupara over there). Still, you should see the service that I get in Italian restaurants when I order in dialect. And since we are on the subject, the Olive Garden is not an Italian restaurant.

Anyway, I have a useless degree in Political Science and Middle Eastern Studies. Although Middle Eastern people love to flock to me to argue about history and such, but I am much more interested in their food. Shawarma is amazing. So is good Shish Taouk. I like humus but not too garlicky. Actually, there is a really good place called Lula Kabob downtown that I would recommend. Um, what was I saying? Oh, yes. After getting my degree, I moved to Santa Barbara to study photography, film and design at Brooks. That was actually a lot of fun although I spent most of my days at the beach and partying, and not too much time in the dark room. Luckily my buddy David (who came out of the closet so I started calling him Gayvid), did most of my homework for me.

I ended up dropping out for a job in the film biz working for the former VP of Miramax which I scammed my way into (the details of which would require a book). He was an interesting fellow, this movie man. I was given the task of making multi-zillion dollar decisions on scripts (with no experience) and getting ice lattes for him and feeding his cat, and doing some of his laundry, and making reservations for him at pretentious fake-Japanese restaurants like Sushi Roku and Sushi Mon, etc. and lots and lots of phone calls to other important people's assistants. The funny thing is that years later I would be back in Montreal with that phone list of his. And my friends and I would get drunk and prank call Adam Sandler and John Stewart. And Harvey Weinstein. And that Ally McBeal chick. Wow. Maturity in abundance.

After a while, I realized that I would be better off creating my own unique works of art and push those into existence, as well as trying to identify legit Japanese Sushi spots in LA like Mako and Ike sushi. Excellent choices for Omakase. Okay, so I am little hungry while writing this. How could you tell?

So now that you are possibly getting bored, I will skip 12 years of my life and I can tell you how it all turned out when we speak. Kind of like in Reading Rainbow where Levar Burton would only read you half the book. How annoying. But trust that it will be the most exciting 12 hours of your life.

Questions answered:

1. Why am I on here?

Because I am busy with work and do not have patience to run to bars to meet people. Actually, I don't like screaming at the top of my lungs attempting to chat someone up. Lounges are more my thing. I like the Standard because if things don't go well, I can put on my superman outfit and fly away into the night sky.

2. Why am I single?

Well, why are you single? What a rude thing to ask me. Ok, I just have not met the "one" yet. I am looking. Are you her?

3. What are you looking for?

The same sort of love that Cruise had for Cruz in Vanilla Sky. Don't worry, that move confused me as well. Still, who wants "ordinary" mundane love when you can have "Cameron Diaz drive you off a cliff" love?



P.S. My fav POF profile is...visual55. Seriously, I need to take some topless shirts and put them on here.

P.P.S. IF YOU WRITE ME IN ALL CAPS, I WILL THINK THAT YOU ARE YELLING AT ME

P.P.P.S - My age is f'd up on here. Sorry. Long story but I don't seem to age on POF. I was born in 76. Do the math.

Well, first I would pick you up in my invisible jet, or if that's in the shop, in my (drawing of a) 1962 Ferrari GTO - blue with an understated yellow stripe. Then off to the airport to take my semi-private jet (I share it with some animal freight) to Italy to enjoy Aperitivo hour in Milan, then to Asolo for dinner at Villa Cipriani. After, Paris to purchase you a Cartier diamond encrusted picture frame with my photo. Then to Japan for some late night sushi, sake, videogames and karaoke (all in a hot tub). After that, a little shopping in Hong Kong while I freak out the store staff by swearing in Cantonese (neiho lengaaa! gabengolaaa!). We would end the night in my batcave while I feed you grapes and whisper sweet somethings in your ear. Oh, and surprise you with the chocolate covered strawberries that I picked outside in my yard. With diamonds inside. And how could we forget the Scooby Doo ending, and I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you blasted kids!!!