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b!X Frankonis is a nineteen-year resident of the Portland of Oregon born forty-seven years ago in upstate New York. Introvert, misanthrope, and devout agnostic, he aspires to be an at least passable humanist and views cynicism as but frustrated optimism, resulting only from first believing people are capable of better and then too often being proved wrong by their fear, hate, and thoughtless bullshit. He believes this is why the small, every day courtesies matter.

He neither bikes nor dances nor dates nor drives nor drugs nor sexes nor swims, although, leaving which ones to your imagination, he is open to negotiation on some of these. He does, occasionally but with an increasing rarity, drink. Since the death of his father, he no longer smokes. He is a lifelong if sometimes lapsed resident of Red Sox Nation who, when not wearing his baseball cap, sometimes can be recognized by his cheap, straw gardening hat. He still has most, but most assuredly not all, of his teeth; ask him about his fetching dental appliance.

If events were pictures and emotions were sounds, his memories would play as silent movies.

Rolling Stone felt compelled to call attention to his “long black eyelashes” and “face that sees very little sun” while deeming him “a kid from upstate New York with a quick wit”. A public relations professional said he was a “sissy”. Bruce Sterling referred to him as a “punk”. Joss Whedon technically once might have called him “twitchy” and “unreliable-looking”.

As a child, he wanted to become an outer space moving van driver. As an adult, he is not one.

By the Oxford English Dictionary definition of “slack” as the amount of time in critical path analysis by which a particular event may be delayed without delaying the achievement of the overall objective, he considers himself a slacker. To this day he has yet to determine the overall objective.

For seventeen years he owned a cat named Scully. Now he owns a cat named Meru.

After decades of accomplishments including the pioneering Internet civil liberties effort of Hands Off! the Net; the worthwhile cybercafe failure of the Millennium Cafe; the celebrated stand-alone journalism success of Portland Communique; the landmark fundraising creation of Can‘t Stop the Serenity; the surprise uncovering of and research into the WWII shipyard workers zine The Finger; the publishing of his late father‘s novels under the banner of Myrln Books; and many years surviving the wilds of various movie and television fandoms; he now manages The Belmont Goats, a nonprofit urban herd of fourteen.

He strongly suggests helping to bring both equality and mercy to a world forever in too much need of them.

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“Stop worshipping false b!Xes.”
—Joss Whedon