It ain't me, babe

Go away from my window,
Leave at your own chosen speed.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I'm not the one you need.

— Bob Dylan

It is my lot in life to bear a fairly common name. Most neighborhoods can boast a Hill or two, and as Sam Goldwyn never said, every Tom, Dick and Harry is named Charles. The Bureau of the Census, in fact, suggests that in 2000, anyway, people named Charles Hill make up a full 0.00284% of the population of the United States, or nearly 8,000 of us. And that's just in the US; the name can turn up anywhere there are speakers of English. The possibility exists, therefore, that you may have come here looking for somebody else, in which case I must point out that I am not an author and diplomat, an engineer on a proton synchrotron, a professor of psychology (or, for that matter, of English), an