Peter Delacorte was born in New York and, seeking relief from alternate side of the street parking, moved to San Francisco in 1971. He has lived there ever since, churning out novels (five in 35 years, three of them published) as if there were no tomorrow. The third, Time on My Hands, was short-listed for the U.K.'s Arthur C. Clarke Award and was called “definitely…a masterwork” by a man at the laundromat. But some other, more authentic reviewers also liked it. Delacorte lives on Potrero Hill with his wife, Bonnie, and their dog, Doxy, who believes foghorns are the spawn of the devil. He does not speak a word of German. Well, that's not exactly true. He does know a few words, like waschbaer and einwegflaschen. But--although it contains references to Peter's actual great-great-grandfather and to the Beach Boys--the column to the right is ghostwritten! Still, pretty interesting. Too bad if you can't read it.