My full name is Hikoichi Paul Francis (don't ask) Mitsuzuka.
I tend to punctuate my life experiences with pop culture references. I believe in working smarter, not harder. If a glass if half full, I would rather drink from a bottle. I enjoy the words ensemble and symposium. I hate the fact that I am relying more on text messaging; I believe direct human communication is gradually dissolving into a soulless practice. Barnes and Noble is my haven. I am meticulous when it comes to selecting tracks for CD compilations.
I started to read at the age of 3. I've had one sleepwalking incident during which I randomly walked into my parents' bedroom to ask them when my grandmother was coming over for a visit. There had been a time when I never realized that public schools have no tuition; I was a private-school brat up until I was 18. I own a Darth Vader Potato Head. I have recently discovered the magic of Tide-To-Go stain-removal pens. I love the smell of freshly Xeroxed paper. To me, anything British is better.
I have zero tolerance for stupidity and ignorance but appreciate their existence, consequently allowing me to feel superior to others.
I'm a sucker for used bookshops as well as montages accompanied by sappy music. I enjoy good bottles of merlot (preferably from 2004). Primetime soaps are a subject of which I consider myself a strong connoisseur. My vices consist of chocolate chip cookies and movie theater popcorn. The last time I cried at the movies was during an autumn screening of Tim Burton's Big Fish.
I have witnessed a friend's nervous breakdown on the Charles River in Boston. I have wandered the rain-soaked streets of Milan while looking for a cafe that served a particular brand of fruit tart. I have eaten Belgian mussels in a London pub. I have played Poison Eights in a smoky pool hall in Tokyo. I watched Basic Instinct for the first time at a cozy bed-and-breakfast in Wales. I have played miniature golf with cowboys in Toronto. I have come to the conclusion that the 405 freeway in Los Angeles is one carpool lane short of a highway to Hell. I have been solicited by vagabonds in Las Vegas. I have observed fine art in a penthouse overlooking the Miami skyline. I have left a drunken friend behind in a New York City nightclub. I have been slapped on the ass while hiking up to the Acropolis in Athens. I have climbed a dormant volcano in the Greek Islands. I am guilty of scrawling graffiti on the walls of an old, historic prison in Venice.
I never liked Seinfeld. I memorized the capital city of each U.S. state in the third grade - just for fun. I can recite every polysyllabic lyric to Alanis Morissette's "All I Really Want." I hate celery and peppers. Sushi is my dinner of preference. I don't get what the big deal is with Emile Hirsch. I am thankful for the multi-purpose armrest/console in my Ford Focus. I think most Americans live in a bubble. I have never seen Braveheart. Or Aladdin.
I have never had a near-death experience and bathed in the glow of that proverbial White Light. I've been mistaken for a stand-up comic from Mad TV. I was an employee of Starbucks for one whole month (November 5, 2002 - December 5, 2002) during which I once served Helen Hunt a Grande non-fat latte. Elderly women dig me. Challenge me to a board game, and I will pledge to kick your ass in a round of Taboo. One of my dream jobs is to become a young adult novelist with a bestselling thriller series that eventually evolves into a CW adaptation for which I receive an executive producer credit. I consider myself well-cultured.
I've made an on-camera request for a Blink-182 video on TRL. I've shared an elevator with JC Chasez at the Sunset Laemmle complex in West Hollywood. I've gone swimming in Alicia Silverstone's pool. I've shared a birthday cake with three-fifths of the Backstreet Boys in a crowded nightclub off Hollywood Boulevard. I've watched Oprah Winfrey chat it up with Jaime Foxx after the Oscars at the Governor's Ball - from seven feet away. I've cut J.J. Abrams in line at the sushi bar of a premiere afterparty. I've asked George Clooney for the time while trying to maneuver my way through a throng of cocktail partygoers. I namedrop only when necessary.
I am a writer. I am starting to feel more comfortable saying this despite the fact I haven’t been able to make a solid, legitimate living off of communicating my words to a mass audience. This confidence in declaring who I am stems from two things. First, everyone seems to be a writer nowadays, what with the rampant blogging and web journalism that exists in our society of instantaneous infotainment. Second, I live in a city full of writers, each one of them thinking they’re better than the next, and I find it somewhat comforting, living in this bubble, blanketed by shared aspirations and hopes or, depending on one's outlook on life, wishful thinking and delusion.
My name is Hikoichi Paul Francis Mitsuzuka.
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