Hello! I'm Samantha, a thirty year-old writer, artist, wife, daughter, sister, photographer, cat-person, finance worker, nomad, fortune-teller, pirate, treasure-hunter, gamer, model, sailor, webstripper, collector of Ignatz clocks and rubber ducks, Jersey girl, rescuer, brewer, insomniac, cowgirl, satirist, musician, corporate ninja, mountain-climber, potentially lethal novice cook, volunteer, archer, chess player, part-time lesbian, connoisseur of unsweetened black coffee, barrel racer, street performer, outdoorswoman, former Girl Scout and I have been known to play out a fantasy involving tunes and my own voice.

There is a toll for my friendship; club members must participate in our adventures, whether they include air drops, riding a Kootenay highline, sailing to Peru or playing Drinking Jenga with a dojo of Hispanic midgets. Sometimes, we meet people who believe that invading Russia is a new and innovative idea involving low overhead costs and the potential for profit. Personally, I am not prepared to plant my flag in the Gulag market. It is, however, a bullet point on the five-year plan.

I play a number of instruments, I win rodeos, I scale stone, ice and most of the buildings downtown, I am learning to spin fire and I can juggle. I danced ballet, take courses in tap and have learned the Flamenco (A local guitarist dedicated a song on her latest CD to the performance). I can fish, I can hunt, and I excel at the uneven bars. And yet, somehow, that stupid little pixelated bastard at the end of the video game in the other window continually hands my ass back to me in small, dignity-basted cubes.

I drive the speed limit unless the music is good. I have never been in a car accident or received a ticket. I learned to sail a catamaran and found it to be much easier than wind-surfing, which, as you know, is much easier to master than its saltwater, sailless cousin (which, in turn, is far less dangerous than the reaper-invoking ritual of surfing on snow). I spent my childhood summers shark-fishing and was dragged for two miles by a misdirected whale in the wake of the perfect storm. While learning to scuba-dive, I was amused to discover why they never show people walking in fins. It does, however, prepare you for snowshoes and the impersonation of penguins. If anyone ever tells you that it prepares you for skiing, they are lying. If you want to prepare someone for skiing, take them to a fat camp and tie their feet to the rear of a crowded sled. Then, when they aren't looking, strap an A.C.M.E. rocket to the sled and light it. Wherever they land, there shall they be buried.

I am the great grandchild of one of the founders of the jazz movement in the 1920's.
I am the prodigy of composers, arrangers and musicians of considerable fame.
I am the relative and student of acclaimed anthropologists, brilliant writers, talented artists and artisans, saintly heroes and devilish villains.
Our names are carved in stone, from government building to concert hall to garden monument.

Personally, I believe that the only foolishness is in taking yourself too seriously.

I love to photograph humans.
I have unlimited access to a model.
(Me).
I have converted to a digital medium as I no longer have a darkroom.
I post many products of creativity.
I have no singing talent.
I do it anyway.

You have been warned.
I drive a Chevrolet Avalanche which is regularly loaded with some or all of the following material: absinthe, apples, an amazon tree boa, ashes, backpacks, bats, bear spray, bird feeders, blankets, boats, Bodrans, books, boxes, cameras, candles, carabineers, car parts, chairs, Chaos, chess boards, chickens, chiseling tools, clams, climbing equipment, clocks, clothes, coal, coats, coffee, comic books, computers, a corn snake, costumes, cow meat, devil sticks, directions, dogs, donations, doves, dowels, drums, electronics, elephant tusks, Everclear, falcons, fans, films, fish meat, flashlights, flowers, flutes, gasoline, goggles, groceries, guitars, guns, hats, harnesses, helmets, hiking boots, ice, ice axes, ice grippers, ice skates, Jameson's, kites, knee pads, knives, leather gloves, leather coats, leather pants, legal documents, lights, lime, literature, luggage, a machete, mail, manure, maps, mirrors, mining equipment, Murano glassware, nanotechnology, narwhale horns, oil paints, oranges, orchids, packs, paintings, party food, people, plants, poetry, pork, pots and pans, presents, propane tanks, quartz (strawberry), rescue equipment, rocks, rollerblades, rope, rubber gloves, rugs, saddles, safety equipment, sails, seashells, sex toys, shark jaws, shark meat, sheet music, skis, sleds, smithing tools, sneakers, snowshoes, speakers, swings, swordfish, surfboards, tack, Tanqueray, tapestries, tents, tent poles, tonic, tools, tripods, trombones, trumpets, turpentine, undergarments, venom antidotes, vegetables, videos, water bottles, water filters, wet suits, wine, wine glasses, wine racks, wires, wood carvings, wool clothing, writings, x-rays, you (likely if you've read this far), zebra-striped clay pots and my trusty Zippo.

While playing full-contact chess and strip poker, I learned that there is no such thing as a facetious statement. For the want of glory (and trophies...oh pretty, shiny things), I dove into sand, grass and mud. Then, I realized that there is no diving involved in track. If it didn't involve so much cold water, I would still be a lifeguard. Instead, I volunteer for several national agencies, participate in a local community service group and belong to SAR. Unfortunately, unlike the Scouts, heroes don't get a post-rescue Thin Mint. Would you sign my petition?

I can chop firewood, throw knives, spin a quarterstaff and carry a hammer and chisel. I am a novice with a rapier but if given a pistol, I can stop an invasion of plastic Godzilla dolls faster than anyone on my block. If given a rifle, I would survive any horror movie. If given a bow, I could steal the olive branch from the dove. Before an injury, I would kick-box, but it was my Dad who first bandaged my wrists and taped the face of a bully to a bag of sand. I want to become a lifelong student of the martial arts and fantasize about capoeira. I believe that a membership to one's local gym is the most sound investment a person can make.

I've played car tag with Thunderbirds, pretended to be a swamp fox in a Kenworth and driven on sugar-white sand under a sunset that made me wonder if God invested in a local timeshare. In my pocket I have sand from the Sahara, Thai currency and lemon zest from a homemade bottle of Limoncello. In my car I have two army medic bags, the coat of a fire chief and a well-worn pair of New Balance sneakers that have seen the world from an angle I won't see until I'm dead.

I collect antiques; I feel that I cannot own anything that has a less interesting story to tell me than I have to share with it. I imagine mall furniture to be weak and easily intimidated. Give me something with a soul. As a secondary source of income, I hunt treasure (which began, incidentally, with the Ignatz).