Yours Truly
Born in New Jersey, I've lived here for all of my
years. I'll admit that I actually like New Jersey,
although my heart belongs to New Hampshire,
where I've vacationed nearly every year of my life from the age of four.
I'm the fourth of three—I was the last of four sons born to my parents, the third having died at birth. Both of my brothers live in Arizona, which is also where my parents retired (and subsequently died), leaving me the only one left in our home state.
My professional life began in high school as a sign painter. After earning a bachelor's degree at The College of New Jersey (Trenton State College at the time) in graphic design, I pursued careers in advertising, printing, photography, multi-media/video production and post-production, voice talent, computer animation, desktop publishing, technical writing and illustration, marketing, website development, programming and others—you could say I never figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up.
The irony is that, of all my career experiences, I liked marketing the least, yet I spent the most time doing it. Eventually I burned out, however, and went through a devastating period of unemployment as I struggled to find a new career direction. Ultimately I found it working as a software developer at a major pharmaceutical company. When my usefulness as a coder came to an end, I made yet another significant career direction change, and founded my own company: NZT Products.
Aside from a passion for trains both real and miniature, I love movies, music, photography, home renovation, cooking, woodland walks, waterfalls, sunsets and stargazing, writing, science and technology, dinosaurs and cats. And if you're a Boomer (or, more accurately, a GenJoneser) like me, you might remember The Avengers.
Let me be buried in the rain
In a deep, dripping wood,
Under the warm wet breast of Earth
Where once a gnarled tree stood.
And paint a picture on my tomb
With dirt and a piece of bough
Of a girl and a boy beneath a round, ripe moon
Eating of love with an eager spoon
And vowing an eager vow.
And do not keep my plot mowed smooth
And clean as a spinster's bed,
But let the weed, the flower, the tree,
Riotous, rampant, wild, and free,
Grow high above my head.
—Helene Johnson, Invocation