hans at thinkgeek dot com
My title is Custom Product Specialist. I take ideas by the hand and lead them step by step to becoming a real product.
Perhaps you are reading my bio page because you are trying to figure out how to approach a product developer with a product idea you have. That's easy. Just contact us. Emailing hans at thinkgeek dot com is a fine place to start. Perhaps I can help you understand what you need to do to have your idea become a reality.
We will not steal your ideas, so don't worry about that. The worst thing that'll happen is we'll be too perplexed to be of assistance.
That's all the helpful info here so the rest is just added to give you an idea of what an amazing person I am, even at the age of 3.
I grew up in the US with Swedish as my first language. It was intimate and fun speaking a language only my immediate family (including our dog) could understand. I used to love saying bad words and silly things about people right in front of them. I wasn't serious, it was just fun. My parents would become nervous and sometimes they would tell me very funny stories about how they had heard Scandinavian strangers in America having very private conversations—so I best beware.
The first time we visited Sweden I was 3 (and the dog stayed home). Finally I could communicate with strangers! I would roll down the windows of taxis and talk with anyone within ear-shot.
One dinner, surrounded by Swedish-speakers, I was placed next to the cutest girl I had ever seen (that's a fact, not just my opinion). She was sitting to the right of me, and I can still see her as if she is still sitting there. I was in a high chair and she was quite a bit older/mature (by 3 years?) and seated in a regular grown-up chair which dwarfed her. I was trying to act as mature as possible and trying to talk with her, but soon I noticed my mother was taking off my pants because apparently I had wet myself either by spilling a drink or peeing on myself (I really believe I spilled a drink but I can't remember it clearly anymore).
I was so horribly embarrassed being bare-butt and knowing that I'm just such a baby that it doesn't matter if I'm bare-butt but people older than me must keep covered because they're more mature, ...and it set in: I wasn't fooling anyone. I was the youngest and most immature person there and I would never be old enough and mature enough for her and I will always be the youngest and least mature of all of us for the rest of our lives together—an outsider looking in for the rest of my life. Eventually I understood she was a cousin, which is basically the same as being my sister (or my dog), which gave me more reason to self-loath, and fear my lack of wisdom. Soon I returned to the States emotionally crushed and again unable to properly communicate lingually with anyone but my immediate family.
I find comfort in that as I age I become more like my parents. Smart and awesome.