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Day 238 - one hundred things (or so)

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posted by alias TheDamnMushroom on Monday 24th of March 2008 09:35:57 PM

Inspired by Jeff who was inspired by... and that person was inspired by... etc. This is by no means comprehensive; contents measured by mass, not by count. - - - If there's any part of my body I like a lot, it's my eyes. I describe them as "emerald brown" and let other people try to noodle it out. As pretty as they are, their sight does leave a little to be desired -- the right eye has been on the fuzzy side since age 15. That can be corrected with lenses but I need to get a prescription that doesn't put my visual synch out of whack with my left eye (the reason why I don't wear glasses). I'm adopted. This was at birth so I know nothing of where I came from. It surprises me the concepts people have about adoption, and it seems the popular question asked is are you looking for your biological parents? No, thank you, I'm not. They might be able to answer a few health questions about my future but that's really all I'd allow myself to know. While I've met people who have a "Diff'rent Strokes" concept of adoption (it happened to Willis & Arnold when they were like 6 and 9) mine is a "Facts Of Life" concept... there was an episode where Blair had sought out Natalie's biological background and all Natalie had to do was pick up the phone on the table to be told who created her; she hung it up. I know some people who fixate their lives on "where did I come from?" and I am not one of them; it doesn't come up in the conversation. Speaking of: Of the "Facts Of Life" cast, the one I'd want to get with is Natalie. (Mindy Cohn is still hawt!) Of the "Gilligan's Island" cast, Mary Ann. Of the "Scooby Doo" cast, Velma. (Brains, figure, and square glasses, mrowr!) And to address a loooong conversation I had with a coworker who has two Flickr accounts... Emma Watson over everyone, except the Olson twins together, and that's final! My relationship with my parents is don't-ask and don't-tell. I think 175 miles apart is an adequate distance because they're not looking for me. I've known people that entire continents are not enough of a spread. I realize the relationship is kinda sad, but it took me 19 years for me to get out of their house and another six for me to stop grinding axes, so two hours every other Christmas is as much time as either of us can stay civil with each other. Works for me. I have three siblings, all younger. Courtesy of them, I have five neicephew. I have no contact with any of them, though in my sister's case it's not entirely without a little trying. My sissy is an amazingly cutting and hilarious person, and an absolute bitch when you really get to know her beyond the sweet sugary veneer. (This isn't an insult.) I'll never reproduce. The world is a better place for that. I decided that at age 11. I've long thought that David Gilmour from Pink Floyd was a genius, though I prefer his solo work. The thing he sang that most rang true to me when I was growing up was from "Comfortably Numb": When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye... I turned to look but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now; the child has grown, the dream is gone. That's how I felt as a teenager. I don't drink, beside the occasional microbrew. Wine fails to impress me (I'm from the Lower Yakima Valley, and vinters are everywhere there) and I've never touched hard liquor. If there was any macrobrew I'd have any yen for, it'd be Rainier or Heidelburg, but mostly because that's what I drank as a preschooler and those two beers disappeared years ago (forget the nostalgia-brand re-releases!). I love Yakima, WA for being perpetually 30 years behind. Seriously, it was pretty cool living in a place where it was still 1955 everywhere you looked. Now it's 1978 there, so any minute now disco music should be in vogue. I haven't worn blue jeans since 1988. Beside the two pairs I use for painting and yardwork, which I've had since 1983 or so, but I didn't say they fit perfectly presently. :) I prefer grey cargo pants, they're practical and they fit correctly. I love comedy, but not movies and TV shows that are labelled as "comedies" because they rarely are funny to me. Okay, to be specific, I love a good number of standup comedians, especially the older ones that played it (mostly) clean and the newer ones that realized the genius of the older ones. I could go on at length about what I like and what I think is useless, but will only toss out a couple statements: -- Shelley Berman is still a frigging amazing man, and more kids taking the stage should pay attention to how he makes it work. Many comics cite George Carlin as inspiration, but half lack the control and direction of Carlin (not to mention his inspiration, Lenny Bruce) because they focus on using the dirty words rather than making how the dirty words are used the focus. Sam Kinison was a master of both, but all some people remember is the blitzkreig of profanity -- not what created that soul-wrenching scream he was known for and why his language worked for him. -- It was a pleasure meeting Dante, who got kudos from Richard Pryor for being so out-there on race and I could see why, and a secret thrill to totally blow off that chick he was with for being a poor copy of Sarah Silverman (who is funny in very small and irregular doses). Shock is overrated and played out, everyone. I wanted to be an astronomer as a kid, or a geologist. I'm neither. I wanted to be a bra fitter for a department store as a teenager, due to a Bali ad saying 75% of women are wearing the wrong size or style (and it's true!). I'm not that either, curse the luck. I told this detail to someone once over lunch, and she was offended for some reason. Possibly because she needed my help, being this tall thin woman with the attention span of a gnat and the figure of a garden rake. (Of course I didn't say that; we weren't discussing her in any manner, we were talking about where our high school guidance counselors were mistaken. But who knows, I might have made a dandy forest ranger like he suggested.) I hate leaving one or two words hanging on the last line of whatever I am writing, and will purposely add another few words or a sentence so they're not left lonely. I guess it's visual balance. That's one of my secret idiosyncrasies, which I discovered while writing letters in high school on a typewriter. One thing I hate about the dynamic nature of HTML formatting with screen or window size differences: what looks right to me on my screen will look different on nearly everyone else's screens, and that last word will scroll to its own line against my intentions. I have never claimed to have a clear direction or distinct goal. In high school I knew I wanted to work with computers, but I didn't know in what capacity beside "not programming". The jobs I would have named back then didn't exist until five or ten years ago. In college I got a degree specific to desktop publishing, just so I could have a fixed point to aim for, but six months after I graduated Microsoft Publish and better versions of Aldus Pagemaker came out, causing everyone and their dog to be able to put out work so awesome looking that no one noticed that there was a lack of English skills or layout design skills (other than the templates in the programs) employed. I still don't know what to be when I grow up, so I've been in technical support for Internet providers for years. Ever since about the fourth grade, people have thought that I am gay. (I'm not... not that there's anything wrong with that.) At first I was annoyed by this, but there was this period in about the sixth grade my peer group abandoned me so I had plenty of time to think and observe, and realized in time that not only did the kids around me have no idea what they were talking about, I wasn't quite sure what the story was either since I didn't know any homosexuals at the time. [Okay, more accurately, it was too early for anyone to express an interest in anyone else, so I didn't know what anyone's preference was. The state of mind already silently existed for some.] I did my share of girl-chasing in school, so I was puzzled how anyone derived I was gay. I realized in my solitude that it was all a name, kind of like "boogerhead", so it stopped bothering me. In junior high I realized that when people call names and taunt, they're exposing what it is that they fear out of lack of understanding, so with that knowledge in mind I had power over the ignorant... I knew where their Achilles heels were. And now, "some of my best friends are," as the saying goes. I used that knowledge and power once a few years ago. Short version of the story, some neighborhood bullies started chasing me on foot and I tripped over a tree branch, putting a gouge in my shirt and my middle. I was being surrounded by some dumbfucks and I had to think fast, especially since one of them was carrying a picket off someone's fence. They laid into the gay epithets. I mustered my courage and said, "Okay, so you think I'm gay and have AIDS. I'm bleeding right now [touching my wound]... are you SURE that you want to hit me with your fists?" They all jumped back about five feet, it was precious. And then they dispersed after more harsh words. Two days out of the year, truth is wilder than fiction. I'm not much into organized sports, and particularly dislike football while avoiding basketball. I like baseball and root on for the Mariners, but I don't make it a point to watch or listen to games. I played baseball as a kid, first for the 49ers and then for Dairy Queen, but hated it for the most part because (I found out years later) peewee league doesn't play by the same batting order rules as the big leagues -- namely, I played right field for nine innings every game, but got to bat once every five to ten games. My name wasn't even on the batting roster! My parents were never aware of this, because in four summers of baseball they never once attended one of my games. My favorite color is purple. It used to be the color a flame turns when burning strontium salts, but that is one less often seen. My astrological sign is Libra, which seems to mean I know art when I see it but I am incapable of producing it. My birthstone is opal, which only people born in October are supposed to be able to wear. I was born in the Year of the Goat (which makes sense in Charlie Brown terms) and it's said that the year I was born in was a lucky one. And yet, what I believe makes me special is that I can roll my tongue into a U and wiggle my ears, and can taste phenylthiocarbamide. (The lab aide in college who gave me a test strip lacked the gene himself, so thought I was overreacting when I reacted strongly about how bitter it was. No, really, you folks who can't taste it... take my word for it, it's pretty bad.) I genuinely do not remember my first kiss, but it probably involved a girl named Jennifer. The first time a girl tried to get into my pants (not the other way around) was in my senior year of high school. And I stopped her at mid-thigh. Frankly she was a disease vector, and to this day I have no regrets because that hit was only meant to be a single to shallow left field. Another batter came to the plate later that day. There are only three things I truly regret doing: cutting the wires under the dashboard of my father's pickup when I was 6 (stupid), attempting to light an M-80 which had no fuse remaining (stupid and dangerous), and taking Trish seriously (dangerous). I survived all of them with only one blowing up in my face. [Trish follows my Flickr and hates that I said that.] This is not the same list as the one of things I'd do differently if I could turn back time -- this is the list of things I would not have done at all. I've always resented how some people thought that just because I was the class clown I couldn't handle being told something serious and personal. I've always resented it more how some people were quick to confide in me, but resisted returning the favor and listening when I had something to let out. (Obviously these are two different groups of people.) I went to United Methodist summer camps every year for eight years while I was in school. It was how I recharged, re-evaluated my place in the universe, cleared my mind, and got away from the hot Yakima Valley and my cold family for five days. This became what I lived through a year for, that one week in July where I could be myself or anyone else I wanted to be. What I miss most about camp is the clearing of my mind... it was the only time and place that I ever wasn't thinking about es-ee-ex at every moment. And the music and friends were pretty good too. My religious belief is this: Everyone who believes in something, and was faithful to that belief and lived peacefully, goes to the place they believed existed for their reward -- and it's all the same place. I sum this up as "what if everyone is right?" I think the people who would be most pissed off if this were how things worked are the agnostics who spent their lives denying there's something beyond what we see in life, and the members of religions or sects who spent their time on Earth believing (and sometimes being aggressive about the notion) that they were the only ones who would make it to the reward. Oddly, some people think this concept is heretical, possibly because it hurts their egos. I'd love to have my maternal grandparents back for awhile so I could ask them about their childhoods and young adult lives. They left the mortal coil right about the time that I was mature enough to realize that I should ask them those questions. "And the reason why I don't care is because nobody asked me." -- A House



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