john a. maurer iv (jamiv) grew up on a dead-end road in the American Midwest, nestled between a Bob Evans & Interstate 44, inhaling a steady supply of car fumes and sausage grease while dazing perplexedly at swiftly passing traffic. He studied any form of bizarre "music" in college followed by a slightly more practical degree in geography, pondering the inconvenient truth that is human-induced climate change—visiting one of its unfortunate outpatients, the Greenland ice sheet, in the slippery throes of its gradual demise. He ultimately took the “Gateway To The West” moniker of his birthplace very literally, trading one Lou (St. Louis) for another (Honolulu) near the edge of the hemisphere and now finds himself on a remote tropical island with his botanizing wife and their two bustling sprites, all slathered generously in sunscreen and generally enjoying the views and cool breezes when they are not impeded by volcanic smog belching from dispeptic craters. His favorite word is quixotic.