Does the title of this page strike you as bossy? Sometimes it's just as important to say who we aren't as who we are. Profound, no?

• I'm not the well-known surfer/artist who died a few years ago in Laguna Beach (although a security guard recently asked me if I was his son—I'm not that either).
• I'm not Pat Tobin, the well-known Los Angeles PR woman who died a couple of years ago (although I did run into her at a restaurant in 1993—she was sitting at the table next to me!—and she seemed like a wonderful person).
• I'm not the English mathematician—for people who really know me well, this is probably the most improbable and laughable of the Google-based mistaken identities, as I can barely balance my checkbook.
• I'm also not the Patrick Tobin who apparently sings Sinatra songs for a living (tribute band or impersonator? this is a question I cannot answer).
• I'm definitely not the Patrick Tobin who is a professional poker player. My dad plays a mean game, but my game of choice is blackjack and I really don't play that well.
• I'm not the Patrick Tobin who's a history grad student at UNC. Although, the UNC PT is studying the Holocaust, and of course some of my favorite writing is about the Holocaust (Victor Klemperer, Hannah Arendt), how Evil with a capital E can emerge in our so-called modern age, casting its flinty shadow over everything.

I write but I don't surf. I live in Los Angeles, but I'm not female and don't do PR. I like Sinatra, but I can't sing. I'm alive, but only achieve true aliveness with the aid of coffee and Nicorette gum (still chewing, 7 years after quitting smoking).