In Which I Reveal My Past

Many people know I am West Philadelphia born and raised. Except not technically Philadelphia, and not born. But, Upper Darby, raised after moving from Seattle as a toddler doesn't have as good of a ring to it. Even more people (or, more likely, the same number of people), know I went to the California Institute of Technology and achieved a B.S. in Geology, and then to Columbia Law School where I received a Juris Doctorate, which is like a PhD, only 2 years shorter and often 100s of thousands of dollars more expensive.

Still, I hope that one day not only will this weblog (webblog? is it just blog now?) series of writings what can be looked at on the internets will show up when people enter my name into Google (or "Alta-vista" me), but also that one day people will actually be performing such a search (i.e. "Asking Jeeves" about me. And yes, I did write this back in 2010, so all you people of the future should be duly impressed by my use of your current short hand term for internet searches (or "asking dot com me"). Thus, I think I should tell the world a little bit more about my past.

First, I am descended from the apes, as are all humans living in states that generally vote democratic, but unlike those people, I am also descended from bears. Specifically, my ancient ancestry goes like this: apes, ape-man, man, bear, man-bear, human, bear, human, me. This is less confusing if you realize that evolution is not a one way street. After all, what is a bear but a man who made a choice? And what is a man but a bear that stole too many pic-a-nic baskets and started wearing a ranger hat? And what is a man-bear but a former-ape-man after extensive unnecessary surgeries?

More recently (or at least no more than one time-of-the-bear ago), my ancestry was Scandinavian (a Swede is just a Norwegian that made a choice, and/or vice verse) and Scotch-Irish (someone from Scotland who moved to Ireland because when you have a chance to experience protestant-catholic violence, you can't pass that up). I may also have ancestors from other places (the foul depths of Atlantis, perhaps), but that is lost to history.

My Scandinavian past explains why I sometime have the berserk rage of the Viking (or Wiking, as they were called by some cultures of that time that had superstitions about two V's being better than one) and also explains my love of herring, cold weather, socialist medicine and fjords. In fact, legend (also, my grandfather) tells a story of how my name, Falk (without a U, because that is for Germans and NFL running backs, and comes from Faulkenberg) arose from the might armies of Sweden's King Gustav Vasa (or some other guy, maybe named Carl, the story isn't clear on that detail). Because Erick the Red or some other Eric or Erik were so popular, apparently 9 out of 10 men in Sweden at the time were named Erikson, including my noble ancestor. To make it possible for officers to yell at them, the army simply re-named the soldiers, presumably after whatever bird was flying over at the time. Thus, but for the grace of King Carl (or Gustav, or maybe Sigismund), my name could have been not Falk, but Seagullvson.

As for my Scotch-Irish side, my ancestry comes from the Hamilton and Lindsey clans, only one of which I really know anything about. Because my name isn't Lindsey. The Hamilton clan, before going to Ireland in search of religious strife and cabbage, was known for its valor and bravery, and also for hiding in the woods and pretending to be lumberjacks while the cops ran by. The Hamilton Crest features a tree crossed with a saw, and the phrase "Through", which is either Scottish or Irish for "Timber!" or possibly "Fore!" or "Watch Yo-self!" The story is that some great Hamilton patriarch had gotten on the wrong side of the law, or some other lord, or a baron with a police force or something, and had to run away. Once in the woods, the Hamilton found some wood cutters, paid them for their clothes and tools, and pretended to be chopping wood while the police chased (and presumably caught and summarily executed) the wood cutters. This explains my love of chopping wood (and also my love of pretending to chop wood), and my cleverness is dodging authority figures.

Stay tuned for more of my history, including parts that I was actually alive for.

Founding Fathers

Have you ever wondered what super-powers the founding fathers had? Me too, so I looked them up on the internet, and I'll reproduce the answers here:

George Washington could throw a quarter between two and eight miles, bite through a cherry tree in a single bite (provided he had his "wooden" teeth in), and survive sub-freezing temperatures indefinitely. He was between 6'8" and twelve stories tall, weighed one (non-metric) ton, possessed perfect hands, a crystal horse, a schnauzer, a mason ring and several wigs. He also apparently could throw a knife into heaven and may or may not have had an excessive number of sexual organs.

Ben Franklin could invent anything, including things from the future. He could also call down lightning from the sky, and was impervious to sexually transmitted diseases.

Thomas Jefferson was a polymath, which means he could take on the form of any man, living or dead. He could also fire lasers from his eyes and/or wig, breath under water, and speak French.

John Hancock could sign anything (Anything.) first.

John Jay, "the Judge" had the strength of ten gorillas, and had a magic gavel that would usually come back to him when the threw it. He could also turn mostly invisible to historians.

James Madison could grow to any height, but choose not to out of principle. He was also a master of karate (tiger style), compromise and American Sign Language.

Alexander Hamilton could punch so hard that his fist was engulfed in flames. He could dodge bullets, matrix style, but choose not to out of drunkenness. He was a master of karate (dragon style), stalwartness and Shouting. He and Madison hated each other.

John Adams's power was rock and roll.

John Quincy Adams's power was pan flute music.

Sam Adams could drink unlimited amounts of liquor, and kill with a glare.

Betsy Ross could vote.

Andrew Jackson was impervious to bullets, but not insults to his wife. He apparently could also time-travel.

Patrick Henry could hypnotize anyone with his voice, and unhypnotize them with his eyes.

Thomas Paine could hypnotize people with his gaze, and unhypnotize them with his voice.

Paul Revere could throw is head like a boomerang.

George Wythe, Samuel Chase and Gouverneur Morris could combine to form a giant robot.

A visit to the dark house

Another preview for the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis, for those who can't wait a minute longer:

Victor looked quickly over his shoulder as he stepped into the alleyway. It would be scandal enough if a colleague recognized him in this part of town, but if he were noticed stepping into a such a dank, dead-ended passageway such as this, in his well tailored suit and expensive shoes, surely someone's curiosity would be aroused. Thankfully, there was no one on the street sober enough to be paying him any attention. He carefully counted three dumpsters, cursing under his breath at the fact that they always seemed to be overflowing with some new and disgusting filth, and poked gingerly at the boarded over door in the shadow of the third with his shoe. There was nearly silent whirring, and what had appeared to be a knot hole retracted. Victor hesitated, then braced himself as he placed his pinky-finger into the hole. He withdrew it quickly, but not before he felt the prick of a tiny needle. Moments later the door opened, and Victor stepped forward into an unlit hallway, which sack into pitch darkness as the door behind him closed. Victor began walking slowly forward, until he heard a second door close behind him, and a voice say "Please, Mr. Abrams, have a seat."

Victor sat, and a different voice said "Well Mr. Abrams, we'd love to know how you found our contact, but that can wait. You say you have urgent information about the recent... problems, that have occurred in Washington and Springfield?" Victor peered into the dark as the man spoke, waiting for his eyes to adjust and said "Yes, and I know about the attack near Charleston." This was greeted with several beats of silence, then "I see. Information on that last event has been difficult to assertion, even for us. Tell us what you know." Victor's eyes were not adjusting, it seemed the room was completely blacked out. Victor stared in the direction of the voice and slowly moved his hand into his pocket. "I can't give you that information for free...", a second voice cut him off "Money is not an object. We will determine how much your information is worth, but we can assure you, you will be well compensated." Victor turned his head sharply, as this voice seemed to be to his left, and above him. "I don't need your money, I want a promise. I don't want you to try to kill him." "We cannot promise that we will not kill. If a man needs to die for this nation to remain safe, we must do it" the first voice said. "Oh, I think you misunderstand me" said Victor, "I don't want you to _try_ to kill him. You wouldn't be able to, not at this point, but the trying will make him angry, and will make things much harder for all of us." A third voice spoke, from Victor's right: "You don't mean..."

"Yes" Victor said, as his fingers tightened around his phone, "Its him. Zombie Lincoln is back."

He whipped out his phone and depressed a key, flashing what he knew to be a dim light, but one that was blinding after the absolute darkness. The room was small and square, with only one door, behind him. There was no sign of the men he had been talking to. In fact, the room was empty, with bare walls except for a vent near the ceiling, where Victor thought he saw a whisp of smoke disappearing, but it was gone before he could find an application on his phone that was bright enough to show it clearly. Not wanting to spend another minute in the strange place, Victor shoved the door behind him open, walked quickly down the hall way, which was a unadorned as the room he had been in, and longer than he had realized, and slipped back into the alley. He walked back past the dumpsters and out of the alley, his pace increased as he looked around vainly for a cab to take him away. He hoped he had done the right thing, because it was begging to look like this time, Lincoln's plans were bigger than he could handle without help.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis

A lot of people have been asking me recently: Have you heard of the new book and/or movie by Seth Grahame-Smith (who could do to lose a few of those last name letters), Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter? To which I must respond: Yes I have. And then they ask: did he rip off your idea from the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis? Or are you two collaborating? Are you going to finish that? Did you steal the idea for ZLH from him? This is the only true answer to those questions (anything you read in US Weekly is a lie):

We have not spoken about our super-natural Lincoln projects, although I think it is safe to assume that I appeared to Seth in a dream, at least once, but possibly several times. That being said, we are both basing our stories on TRUE FACTS, so it is possible that there will be some common details. I don't think that there will be too much overlap, as it appears that his story is set during Lincoln's first lifetime, and ZLH deals with the modern day.

If you have any questions, please direct them to Seth and I jointly, ideally in a written form that appears in our dreams.