Second question first: It doesn't.
First question: The Filthy Critic lives in Arvada, Colorado, which was once known as the Celery Capital of the World, but is now best known as the place dreams go to die. Mr. Critic writes movie reviews even though nobody has asked him to, or paid him to. He does it mostly because it is astonishing how many waking hours there are in a week when there is nowhere to go and no money to do anything.
He often writes about himself in the third person to make it look like someone else cares. He also writes other stuff like novels that get stuffed in a drawer, to be discovered after his death, and promptly discarded. He loves frogs and wishes he were a resident of Millbank.
When he grows up -- fuck that, he's already as grown up as he'll ever be -- so, as the years progress and lead him into dementia and frailty, he hopes to be rescued from unpublished obscurity and delivered into published obscurity. If you are a publisher or literary agent seeking limited talent but shitloads of words on pages, you should contact him (me, really).