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Let me tell you, though: being the smartest boy in the world wasn’t easy. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. On the contrary, it was a huge burden. First, there was the task of keeping my brain perfectly protected. My cerebral cortex was a national treasure, a masterpiece of the Sistine Chapel of brains. This was not something that could be treated frivolously. If I could have locked it in a safe, I would have. Instead, I became obsessed with brain damage.
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The biggest misconception about me is the bad-boy image that everyone stuck me into due to my tattoos, drug days and the constant changes I make with my hair color.
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There's life outside Backstreet Boys that is going on and continuing.
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And you've got a boy right there who looks at you like he would drink your bathwater if you'd ask him!
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In addition to the social pressures from the scientific community there is also at work a very human trait of individual scientist. I call it the law of the instrument , and it may be formulated as follows: Give a small boy a hammer, and he will find that everything he encounters needs pounding. It comes as no particular surprise to discover that a scientist formulates problems in a way which requires for their solution just those techniques in which he himself is especially skilled.
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One of the luckiest things that can happen to you in life is, I think, to have a happy childhood.
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If you watch any John Hughes film of the eighties, that was my childhood experience.
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I'm sure I had low-level scurvy all of my childhood.
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That is how you know you've left childhood behind-when you wish for time to go backward.
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Childhood is but change made gay and visible ...
