After every lecture I’ve ever given in the northeast part of the country, at least one person has come up to me afterward and immediately asked, “Where are you from?” I grew up in Dallas, Texas. I left there in 1973. In my youth I had a broad accent, and traces of it remain. If I could time-travel back to visit the twenty-year-old me, I would say, “Kyle, hie thee to a diction teacher post-haste and get rid of that Texas accent once and for all.” It has worked against me throughout my career. For one thing, it kept me out of classical radio, which I suppose was responsible for making me a writer. I almost didn’t get the Bard job because of it. I wouldn’t generally mind having my geographical background automatically commented upon rather than the content of my lecture if it hadn’t become so predictable and repetitious. You may hear me speak someday, and so please file the information away: I grew up in Dallas. Then you’ll be able to skip that part of the conversation, and we can begin at once on some more interesting topic. And bear in mind that people with a regional accent may grow tired of strangers commenting on it.