I believe I was born in 1971. I remember lots of yelling and a crib mobile made of empty beer cans. My father never fully evacuated or cleansed the cans prior to creating art; every 10 rotations a single drop of malt liquor would splash in my face, a monsoon of proportions littering my psyche with future desires for beach getaways. It was a Sunday, halfway through the weekly family viewing of Bonanza. I remember her screaming please not Baby Prince and the next thing I know I was a sentient Tartan cyborg.