And What Kind of Tree Would You Be?
Damn it to hell! I didn't realize that my answers to Le Feral's interview were supposed to be posted on MY OWN MUCH-IN-NEED-OF-AN-UPDATE SITE. Yeah, I am the humanoid equivalent of fruitcake: unbelievably fucking dense (also sticky on the inside, also much-improved by repeated bastings with rum).
If you'd like to view my responses to my ACTUAL questions, they're available in the comments here. To compensate for my feelings of inadequacy and, erm, dumbness, I took it upon myself to answer five MORE (originally posed to other Gone Feral habitues. I stole your questions, nyah nyah nyah nyah-nyah!).
What are three random things that make you happy?
1. Running in hot weather and getting all sweat-dewy and imagining all of the other humans throughout time who have used and tested their bodies in exactly the same fashion. Also, imagining dragging cute fellow runners into the underbrush.
If you'd like to view my responses to my ACTUAL questions, they're available in the comments here. To compensate for my feelings of inadequacy and, erm, dumbness, I took it upon myself to answer five MORE (originally posed to other Gone Feral habitues. I stole your questions, nyah nyah nyah nyah-nyah!).
What are three random things that make you happy?
1. Running in hot weather and getting all sweat-dewy and imagining all of the other humans throughout time who have used and tested their bodies in exactly the same fashion. Also, imagining dragging cute fellow runners into the underbrush.
2. Muse's "Starlight". Greatest falsetto since The Darkness! When that guy sings "hold you in my arms", he is NOT fucking around. Some other singers might just want to, you know, "sit in relatively close proximity to you on the davenport", or "put my hand in the popcorn tub at the same time as yours", or "not make a disgusted face when you swig mouthwash directly out of the bottle rather than using the cap which was not just designed but specifically demarcated in milliliters for such a purpose"... not the Muse guy. There is no question as to what he wants to do, and that is "HOOOOOOOOOOOOLD YOU INNNNNNNNNNNNNN MAAAAAAAAAAAH ARMMMMMMMMMMMSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"
3. My sister Pixie's newly-developed Theory of Coping With Nonconsensual Prison Intercourse (when we're talking, such topics crop up with alarming frequency): "I'll betcha if those guys just RELAXED and LET THINGS HAPPEN, it wouldn't be so bad!"
What (or whom) would you die for?
I wouldn't die for any cause, principle, person or thing other than J.Q. (for whom I'd die in an instant... biology + maternal love = powerful stuff). I see no nobility in sacrificing my life for anyone else's. So if you're standing near me when the shit goes down, I suggest you move, because I am gonna be one reluctant fucking human shield.
My feelings are much the same re: enduring pain and suffering for another. I'll do whatever I possibly can to spare my loved ones any sort of trauma. But a friend and I were recently discussing the "1984"/"Room 101" situation (when confronted with the thing you fear most, would you allow said thing to be inflicted on a loved one if it meant you'd be spared?). I was like, "Fuck yes! It wouldn't even take THAT MUCH TORTURE! Winston took FOREVER to get to the 'DO IT TO JULIA!' point. I'd instantaneously be like, 'HELL YES you can do it to Julia! And can I have some of that fancy contraband candy?"
(Ed. Note to any family members who are reading: the above was an example of "patent falsehood for comedic effect".)
(Ed. Note to any potential torturers: NOOOO! NOT ME! DO IT TO THOSE BASTARDS!)
Under what circumstances (if any) would you commit murder?
To prevent an extremely close friend or family member from dying or being permanently incapacitated.
This should probably be qualified, because I just realized that it could also encompass a hypothetical situation such as "father needs kidney replacement; go out and whack histocompatible donor in close proximity to local hospital!"
Which is actually kind of clever... um, horrible! I mean horrible!
Baby Jesus has come to tell you you’re dead. But Satan says you can pick any year of your life and live it again one more time before you sleep the big sleep. Which year do you re-live, or do you say, to hell to with it, I’m dead?
The past year... the most eventful, emotionally-brutal, sexiest, scariest, craziest year of my life. I was going to say "the first year of J.Q.'s life", but he's WAY cuter now. I mean, c'mon... he calls a flashlight a "make-sun"! If cuteness were an acid, "make-sun" would be capable of dissolving a rhinoceros carcass in ten minutes flat.
What do you dream about?
My ability to remember my dreams has declined greatly in recent years. I used to be able to vividly recall several dreams each week; I haven't had a single memorable one in the past few months, however. Bummer. Especially because my dreams were invariably of the "hellaciously weird" variety... like the time I dreamed that I was kidnapped by a weird terrorist cabal whose evil nature was manifested by the fact that they only permitted their captives to have a quarter-cup of ice cream with dinner each night. Oh, and the dream where a friend of the Former Mr. Thumbscrews caught me cavorting with a transsexual hooker in a sleazy hotel room. When confronted with evidence of of my (highly unusual) adultery, I solemnly replied, "Oh, THAT? That was just research for this mystery I'm solving!" Man, if I ever need to weasel my way out of infidelity, I know which excuse I'M using.
And now my question for YOU, dear readers... would anyone like to be interviewed by moi? And would you like Barbara Walters-style gentleness, or hard-hitting, "female journalist brutally taking down Frank 'T.J.' Mackie in Magnolia"-style toughness?
3. My sister Pixie's newly-developed Theory of Coping With Nonconsensual Prison Intercourse (when we're talking, such topics crop up with alarming frequency): "I'll betcha if those guys just RELAXED and LET THINGS HAPPEN, it wouldn't be so bad!"
What (or whom) would you die for?
I wouldn't die for any cause, principle, person or thing other than J.Q. (for whom I'd die in an instant... biology + maternal love = powerful stuff). I see no nobility in sacrificing my life for anyone else's. So if you're standing near me when the shit goes down, I suggest you move, because I am gonna be one reluctant fucking human shield.
My feelings are much the same re: enduring pain and suffering for another. I'll do whatever I possibly can to spare my loved ones any sort of trauma. But a friend and I were recently discussing the "1984"/"Room 101" situation (when confronted with the thing you fear most, would you allow said thing to be inflicted on a loved one if it meant you'd be spared?). I was like, "Fuck yes! It wouldn't even take THAT MUCH TORTURE! Winston took FOREVER to get to the 'DO IT TO JULIA!' point. I'd instantaneously be like, 'HELL YES you can do it to Julia! And can I have some of that fancy contraband candy?"
(Ed. Note to any family members who are reading: the above was an example of "patent falsehood for comedic effect".)
(Ed. Note to any potential torturers: NOOOO! NOT ME! DO IT TO THOSE BASTARDS!)
Under what circumstances (if any) would you commit murder?
To prevent an extremely close friend or family member from dying or being permanently incapacitated.
This should probably be qualified, because I just realized that it could also encompass a hypothetical situation such as "father needs kidney replacement; go out and whack histocompatible donor in close proximity to local hospital!"
Which is actually kind of clever... um, horrible! I mean horrible!
Baby Jesus has come to tell you you’re dead. But Satan says you can pick any year of your life and live it again one more time before you sleep the big sleep. Which year do you re-live, or do you say, to hell to with it, I’m dead?
The past year... the most eventful, emotionally-brutal, sexiest, scariest, craziest year of my life. I was going to say "the first year of J.Q.'s life", but he's WAY cuter now. I mean, c'mon... he calls a flashlight a "make-sun"! If cuteness were an acid, "make-sun" would be capable of dissolving a rhinoceros carcass in ten minutes flat.
What do you dream about?
My ability to remember my dreams has declined greatly in recent years. I used to be able to vividly recall several dreams each week; I haven't had a single memorable one in the past few months, however. Bummer. Especially because my dreams were invariably of the "hellaciously weird" variety... like the time I dreamed that I was kidnapped by a weird terrorist cabal whose evil nature was manifested by the fact that they only permitted their captives to have a quarter-cup of ice cream with dinner each night. Oh, and the dream where a friend of the Former Mr. Thumbscrews caught me cavorting with a transsexual hooker in a sleazy hotel room. When confronted with evidence of of my (highly unusual) adultery, I solemnly replied, "Oh, THAT? That was just research for this mystery I'm solving!" Man, if I ever need to weasel my way out of infidelity, I know which excuse I'M using.
And now my question for YOU, dear readers... would anyone like to be interviewed by moi? And would you like Barbara Walters-style gentleness, or hard-hitting, "female journalist brutally taking down Frank 'T.J.' Mackie in Magnolia"-style toughness?
posted by thumbscre.ws at
3/28/2007
13 Comments:
This got the "nonconsensual reading aloud to the spouse" award. (He did laugh.)
ME! ME! And brutal!
It'd get me out of my disgusting and absurd self-pitying slump.
I LOVE this stuff. Pretty great that you'd live through the last year, too--you're made of strong stuff.
I interview for a living--I'd get a kick out of being on the other side.
("key party" allusion explanation? Please??)
Hee! I will sharpen up my questions 'til they're SUPER-incisive!
Amy : aaagh! Sorry, I forgot to answer this before - it's from the Rick Moody book (and Ang Lee movie) "The Ice Storm", a horribly depressing slice o' upper-class suburbia which featured one of the titular parties, and the world's least erotic love scene between Diane Allen and Jamie Sheridan (aka Satan in the mini-series of "The Stand").
My degree is in psych, so I am a patent voyeur. Because of that, I would probably deserve the squirming that would be caused by an interview of moi. It might be tough for you, though, because you don't know me from Eve. Where would you start, Barbara?
Dude, do it! do it do it do it! I really need new stuff to post, so you totally need to interview me, and I will even tell all about the dream I just had where Pixie shanked me with an ice pick and then bit a chunk out of my inner thigh.
Can I just say: Your sisters' and mom's comments are always so witty that I would LOVE to be a fly on the wall at your family gatherings?
Thnaks for the explanation. And I kind of thought that was the allusion, but having neither read the book nor seen the movie I wasn't sure.
Whoo! Two interviews for the price of one! We are going to have so much fun when I sneak off to a "conference" in Philly. Meanwhile, I would love to answer all your questions, and turnabout's fair play, so...DO ME!
I'm game! But I am a delicate flower so do me like Barbara after a few cocktails.
Me too, me too! I'd take it any way you decided to give it, baby. (Which is not to say I'd be interesting. I do "accomodating" much better. But I'll try!)
Yes, please! Pick your poison, I can handle the Babwa Wawa gentle or the tough cookie. Mmm...cookie.
Well, it is unlikely you would select anyone from your family since we are unable to recognize a "patent falsehood for comedic effect."
Maybe that's why we like to hang out of trees and throw poop at the people passing by. Just too simian to be interviewed, apparently!
Har-UMMMMMPF!
It's true. Isn't that what the OB-GYN tells you to do? Just relax and it will be easier and then you won't have anything to tense up about?
And what's this about me biting a chunk out of Junket? I feel that I'm being unfairly portrayed over here.
I'm probably way too late, but me, me, me if DoctorMama isn't available.
A
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