You never forget the first time you see someone burying something in your backyard with a spoon. I don't care whether you live in a house, apartment, motel or whatever seeing someone digging behind your home feels a little awkward. Here is my first experience.

My neighborhood is full of unusual characters, many of which are the reason I don't spend much time in my front yard. The following live either next door or across the street (names have been changed):

"Our team works hard to bring you the highest quality products."

If any of you don't know what I look like, you will now. I am the short dark-haired one in the first row. I am not part of a large staff. I work in a small home office with one other person. There are no red bricks on my sidewalk. I make high-quality products, but not the Mean Green Machines, Pak-A-Punches or 2-in-1 Automatic Cutter/Strippers that most of the folks in this photo do.

Our firm received a resume the other day from a young "Usability Specialist/Researcher" The problem... we couldn't tell what the person uses and how that is special. Perhaps one of the worst cover letters sent to a graphic design firm that I have ever read follows...

I once was a skinny, pale and shy boy living in Mississippi who walked a little funny (or so they said). And for some reason I have always been a magnet for nicknames. Perhaps a single name (and a generic name at that) just isn't enough to communicate the depth and complexity of who I really am. Or maybe I'm just funny looking and easy to poke fun at. Either way, folks have branded me Ghost, Stick, Shithead, Brick, Sandman, Sanders, Marky, the Spark and many others. Some have stuck, some have been replaced and some have hurt my feelings but I can't deny the impact they have had on how I approach the names of others.