What a question. Who am I? Ask me on Saturday afternoon when I'm on my patio in the sun and I'll tell you I'm a reader, a lazy slob, a future dermatology patient. Ask me Monday-Friday 9-5, and I'll tell you I counsel middle-aged, unemployed engineers how to survive the youth obsessed Silicon Valley labor market AND I design magazines...Been doing that since dinosaurs roamed the earth (aka, pre-computers) Oh, and how could I forget, I write. Why? Because I'm a masochist? Starved for attention? Fancy myself someone with something to say? My mother wanted to write and couldn't so I'm doing it for her? If I figure that out I'll let you know.