If my friend Jaime Windon hadn’t done this to me, I wouldn’t be … having this be done to me.
But she did. And I am. And … so here we are.
So then. First, I guess, I’m supposed to post, right here, this, which I cut and pasted from her site:
So I’ve been “tagged” and it goes something like this:
1. Post these rules before you give the facts.
2. List eight (8) facts about yourself.
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) someone and list their name (linking to their page.)
4. Leave them a comment on their blog letting them know they’ve been tagged!”
Isn’t this fun?? It’s just like … something fun.
So here are 8 things I’m thinking of exactly as I type them:
1. I think I smell bad. I spent about ten hours today in two coffee shops waiting for my car to get fixed, and drank, like, fourteen cups of coffee. So I’ve been SWEATING all day, and I think emitting that weird, wired adrenaline smell you do sometimes when you’re about 200 rapid heartbeats away from becoming a full-on smack fiend. So I figure right now I probably smell like something that would make dogs howl.
2. I want a dog. I love dogs. I also love cats. Since I’ve been married, I’ve lived with probably 40 cats, and NO dogs. My wife’s name is Cat. How stupid would I have to be not to notice the connection? I will have to speak with her about this.
3. My wife Cat is about 18 times smarter than I am. So having a conversation with her can be pretty tricky, especially if you go wading into it thinking you’re going to in any way impune her character. It’s best to think long and hard before you go diving into those waters.
4. I’m a weirdly good swimmer. I have no idea why. My father was an elegant swimmer. So maybe that’s why. Except he was also a phenomenal basketball player, and I play basketball like I play bocce ball, which is to say never. I never played basketball, and today cannot. I never much swam, but today make dolphins envious. Life’s a mystery.
5. People say that life is a mystery. I don’t see how anyone can think anything is a mystery when they know EXACTLY how it’s going to end. We’re all going die. End of mystery.
7. It wasn’t until I was 23-years-old that I realized that everyone in the world DOESN’T have memories beginning right when they were born. It STILL amazes me. I hate it, because I have always wanted to WRITE about all the stuff I remember from my infanthood and very early childhood–but CAN’T, because everyone always tells me how no one will believe that I have memories from that far back, and so I’ll be essentially wasting my time. Drives me insane. So far, the ONLY thing I’ve ever “published” about that whole huge must-stay-silent-about-it chunk of my life is here.
8. The first thing in my life that I was ever truly mystified by was the awesomely bright light on the wall of the delivery room when I was born. I thought it was ALIVE. Truly. Yet, it seemed … quiet. The nurses and doctor I totally understood to be My Kind. But that light. That thing just … transfixed me.
Well, that was … surprisingly fun. Thanks, Jaime! Do anything like this again, and I’ll …. I’ll … I’ll never again hire you as a freelancer if I ever again take over a magazine that’s geared towards skate punks and girls who, naked, could make metal detectors go off like a bank alarm.
Hmmm. Now I have to tag someone.
Okay, Skerrib it is.