I recently came face to face with my 70s-era twin, featured on the box cover for a bottle-cutting tool. It was given to me by Rowan's brother's friend Dan, who told me he got it from an old woman with no legs who owns a thrift store. I said, "How does she get to the register?" to which he replied, "I didn't turn around to find out."

Apparently in the 70s bottle-cutting constituted a hobby, along with sweating profusely and joining cults. I don't know that my twin, though, would go for either of those, so intent is he on beheading that bottle. A bottle which perhaps held a year's supply of Hai Karate, or the Bay City Rollers.

No, he's a happy sort. Happy in a funky, besweatered, Crispin Glover-type way, perhaps, but happy none the less. Now, I realize many of you don't know what I look like, so this whole thing is a bit confusing or, more likely, useless. But, if you have ever wondered, ever puzzled, over the shape and form of my visage, here it is. Except I have brown hair.