I've got two scars, one on each side of my right ankle, from the time a forklift ran me over. I have acquired some significant scars in the 17 years or so since it happened, but it is definitely the most painful thing that's ever happened to me.

Fork Lifter

I should probably have known better than to stand on top of the big warning plaque that said "DO NOT STAND HERE" on the side of the forklift. We'd been clearing palettes of props and equipment after Grad Night at my high school.

So we're motoring from one end of the parking lot to the other, and I'm hanging on fiercely as the forklift is accelerating, and somehow my hand loses its purchase on the roll-cage which I've been hanging on to. As I lost my grip, my weight pulled me backwards, and it wasn't a split second before my feet slipped and I was on my back, my legs and feet in the path of the forklift's back right tire.

Now, the tire on this thing alone is pretty huge. It came up to about my throat, when I was standing. Now I'm prone on the ground, in this thing's path, and panicking very, very hard. I manage to get my left knee to my chest, keeping the foot and ankle out of harm's way. I wasn't fast enough with my right. The tire caught me by the foot, crushing it beneath something close to 4000 lbs. The force of it torqued my knee, forcing me onto my side. I apparently made a noise that was both blood-curdling and sufficient to get the driver to realize what had just happened.

The forklift stopped moving, and I quickly went into shock. [You might want to skip the next part if you don't like graphic descriptions of injuries.]

I was pinned beneath the tire at the ankle. I didn't know it at the time, but my foot had mostly been spared - not a single broken bone or toe. Road rash had removed all of the skin on both sides of my foot, ankle and lower leg, grinded off by the friction between tire and the blacktop. The ankle was crushed, snapped into three pieces. It would have been considered a compound fracture if my ankle wasn't effectively flat at the time, bones and ligaments and muscle barely keeping foot and leg attached to one another.

The ambulance came, I got stabilized, time sort of suspended itself until surgery. I was operated upon by a young and very talent orthopedic surgeon who used about 18 ounces of titanium screws and plates to rebuild my ankle. They couldn't cast the ankle due to road rash, so I had to have my bandages changed 3 times a day as the skin re-grew. I passed out from the pain the first time the bandages were removed.

Recovery took a while. I was on crutches for the entirety of the summer before my 16th birthday. After being let ahead in line at Space Mountain during a trip to Disneyland, a ride attendant shouted, "Next time, fake it better," as the coaster ride started. I hated every minute of not being able to walk without assistance.

Three months later school started again. The success of the surgery was dramatic - I had completely healed, no limp, minimal pain. I rejoined the track team, and then cross-country. I've been running ever since - two marathons, three half-marathons and a bunch of 10k and 5k races.

I've still got the scar, and the titanium still holds me together. But it has never held me back.

I was an intern at Adobe during the summers when I was in high school. This started in '90 or so. I had been relegated to a windowless team room, assigned to help test PostScript printer drivers. It was, as you could imagine, simultaneously the cushiest and simplest job ever - and the most soul-destroying monotony ever. To this day, I am convinced that performing device firmware QA is how some people spend their eternity in hell.

I found the Internet quite by accident. I used to spend my lunches wandering aimlessly through people's public directories across the network. Every once in a while there'd be an unsecured machine I could snoop around inside. This wasn't espionage, I was 16. I was looking for sound files ("Game over, man" from "Aliens" was a favorite) and games and whatever else I maybe wasn't supposed to have access to. When I got bored of this, my colleague James introduced me to Fetch, a simple Mac FTP app that let me access far away .edu servers at universities around the world. That was my first encounter with the Internet.

I'll be honest and say there was very little magic in it, for me. At no point did I marvel over the idea of accessing a machine that wasn't in front of me. At home, I'd been doing that on BBSes since my dad had brought home my first modem (US Robotics 1200 baud) - and at first, using FTP (and then d/l-ing bins off of Usenet) seemed like using a dumber, bigger BBS.

For someone who grew up reading William Gibson, the Internet of the early and mid 90s was a disappointment. There were, quite simply, too few places to "go". I had suspected the visualizations he wrote about were gratuitous, but at least he talked about the net being so big it encompassed everything - all bodies of information available persistently. The early net was just too limited to hold my attention. By the time I got to UCSD, the Internet was just a place for email to pass through.

Now, if you want to talk about Gopher or Netscape... damn. That's an entirely different conversation altogether.

I had been raised to believe that "gin makes a man mean," and so to steer towards the brown liquors. As I grew up, I learned to appreciate the more complex, less sweet varieties - and to sip rather than shoot, to appreciate neat rather than mix into Coke or gingerale.

I married into a Kentucky family, so I very much doubt I'll be giving up bourbon any time soon. They'll pry that last rocks glass from my cold, dead hands.