Tag, I’m it: a random factoids meme

Courtesy :

A. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself.
B. Tag seven people to do the same.
C. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it."

Well, shoot. How’s a girl supposed to keep a good online sulk going around here?

Seriously… feeling better, not least because of good friends *gives  a grateful hug*. The apartment is… understanding of sulks. So are the two cats currently curled up beside me on the nice new couch. Also, Shoemom dropped off some chocolate fudge today. I defy JD Salinger himself to keep wangst alive, in the face of Shoemom’s fudge.

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1) I am the least sentimental person around… and cute is my Kryptonite. The tinier and daintier the miniature — or plushie — the more high-pitched my squee. There is a wonderful shop in Toronto called The Little Dollhouse Company that I actually have to avoid like the plague, because I know that one day I will snap and buy their entire stock of bitsy bouquets and teeny place settings in one go.

2) If I were ever to write a fan letter it would be to Elizabeth Enright, for her Melendy family stories. Funny, smart, talented preteens Mona, Rush, Randy and Oliver were my heroes from the moment I first discovered them at the same age, and in some important ways they remain so. Enright had a knack for creating characters fully alive to their environments yet totally real in their responses to them; twelve-year-olds who went to art museums on their Saturday afternoons as naturally as they got lost and fell out of boats.

3) I am one of those people whose weird ‘body chemistry’ blows streetlights as I walk under them and makes wristwatches go wonky. At least this is how it was explained to me as a kid, complete with assurances I had inherited it from Shoedad. As an adult, I am honour-bound to be more sceptical — but I still feel vaguely guilty about those little ‘pouf!’s of darkness. Sorry, fellow night-time strollers!

4) Save with family and very intimate friends I am much, much more articulate on paper than in person (and any cracks about how articulate I am on paper, you will kindly keep to yourself). Picture the same vocabulary, except sans editor or chance to think out ideas — let alone if they’re interesting to anyone else or not. Usually not, as it turns out.

5) I cannot lie to save my life, or fake an emotion I don’t feel, or make a dishonest response to even the touchiest request for opinion. Trust me, this isn’t anywhere near as noble as it sounds. Try it the next time your close friend gets you a gift you don’t like, and see how fast you start organising the telethon.

6) I love water — bathing in it, swimming in it, listening to waves, wandering around in the rain. Even reading about it, voyages and mermaids and the like. When we lived by the lake once I spent long whiles pondering the moonlight trail across the waves, imagining — as per the aforementioned reading, I think — that the flickering light was a hypnotically alluring language, so complicated that anyone who learned it would be driven mad — or called a genius. I was a weird (and possibly also fatuous) kid.

7) I have a thing for earrings. I like to keep a little touch of the unique around me at all times; rings/bracelets etc drive me nuts, and my hair is very short, so my ears are my canvas. When I was younger I preferred huge, bizarre hoops and chains; nowadays I’m more into glass beads and silver. A friend who makes jewelery and keeps me in mind doesn’t hurt.

Tagging… oh, say… and  and  and  and *ahem* any three other friends who may wish to participate. 🙂

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Things I Learned From the Internet, Vol.34: When having angst, do a TV meme.

Gacked from , just because in my current mood a masochistic look back at what a media dork I am seemed like a good idea.

Bold all of the following TV shows which you’ve ever seen 3 or more episodes of in your lifetime.
– underline a show if you’re positive you’ve seen every episode of it.

More

The Seven Days meme: Day Seven (and one-half)

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
Day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy

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Heh, oops. Got so interested in picking a new theme…

At any rate, as a fitting capper for the week, I present the following, in its entirety, from Shoemom’s old LP of The Smothers Brothers (think ethnic!). Although the album as a whole was a great inspiration, I can safely say that this is the particular track that spurred my lifelong love of 50’s/60’s comedy:

Dick (humming tunelessly): "Soap, soap, soap, soap, soap, soap, soap, soap…"
Tom: "Dick… what are you doing?"
Dick: "Oh, about eight bars."

The Seven Days meme: Day Six

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
Day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy

____________________________

I don’t say I’ve got much of a soul, but, such as it is, I’m perfectly satisfied with the little chap. I don’t want people fooling about with it. ‘Leave it alone,’ I say. ‘Don’t touch it. I like it the way it is.’

Joy in the Morning (US: Jeeves in the Morning), P.G. Wodehouse

The Seven Days meme: Day Five

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
Day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy

____________________________

Well, isn’t this convenient. The 2010 Olympic replica gear collection just happens to have been unveiled @ the Hudson’s Bay Co. today; naturally, along with the 2010 Olympic replica gear commercial. All I can add is… yeah, if nothing else, we were definitely made to have caribou on our clothing.

The Seven Days meme: Day Four

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
Day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy

____________________________

I am thinking this would be an excellent time to thank Bad Movie mecca the agony booth for being the amazingly rich source of entertainment it’s been to me for so long. Love siterunner Albert Walker or not — frankly I’m a bit bemused by the way he runs his forum lately, which is why I’m not saying this there, despite being tempted many times after finishing a recap…

Anyway, he gets all kinds of points for running his site according to real-world literary standards, not Net ones. Not only is his grammar excellent, but his snark is consistently intelligent, insightful and damn funny. Same thing goes for the recaps others post under his supervision; inasmuch as I’m paying off old laffs I must single out Jordon Davis, Jet and Mark ‘Scooter’Wilson. Enshrining Mr T’s place in pop-culture history is a noble work and all, but — in the context of the Internet — the booth’s greater achievement  may be giving wits of their calibre a congenial place to shine.

Well, that and making it through that one Deep Space Nine ep where Quark gets a sex change…

The Seven Days meme: Day Three

day 01 | a song
day 02 | a picture
Day 03 | a book/ebook/fanfic
day 04 | a site
day 05 | a youtube clip
day 06 | a quote
day 07 | whatever tickles your fancy

____________________________

I had originally thought of being cute with this one, and plucking out something like the most obscure or weirdest book I own. Which — at least, in context — is a tiny 1964 paperback called From the Back of the Bus. It’s a collection of one-liners from Dick Gregory’s early career, complete with forward by Hugh Hefner.
I picked it up from a laundry room, feeling a bit smug, and boy was that knocked out of me but quick. This is Chris Rock’s direct ancestor; his MO was basically to get up in front of White audiences and make jokes about how racist they were. Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I understand there are a good many Southerners in the room tonight. I know the South very well. I spent twenty years there one night. "If I get them laughing, I can get through to them."

And it worked. They laughed. They packed the Playboy Club for weeks. Then he ran for President. I realise each generation creates its own level of insanity… but only in the 60’s, it sometimes seems, did they fully grasp the possibilities inherent therein.

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Clara Bow didn’t ever have to worry about locating the crazy. It spun around her, spun through her, spun her right over the rainbow into some of the most magnetic images ever captured on the big screen. She had no Kansas – she had no idea there was even an Emerald City. And by the time the Wizard turned out to be humbug her silver slippers had long since fallen off, and been lost in the wasteland.

…which is to say, I’ve also been re-reading David Stenn’s Clara Bow: Runnin’ Wild lately. Stories of old Hollywood tend to have that effect on me. For awhile there, you start believing that it’s actually possible to redo reality in Technicolour; the only similar reading experience I can think of is a Dickens marathon.

Anyway, if you like celeb bios, this is a classic of the genre, striking the perfect balance between subject and purpose. Where Clara was real — and she was very, very real, in a Tinseltown age where it was unforgivable — so is Stenn; where things must needs get artificial, Stenn sympathises, delicately, rather like a friend who’s trying sincerely not to laugh. Because, frankly, these people were nuts. At one point, we’re introduced to a Judge Ben Lindsey, 1920’s celebrity advocate for premarital sex; he asks to meet Clara; arriving at the swank home of her producer and his family, Clara promptly unbuttons the Judge’s fly; he promptly flees in a huff. This is a minor incident at the bottom of page 98 or thereabouts.

The really wild stuff is elswhere, and it has nothing to do with orgies with football teams (as it turns out, there weren’t any of those anyhow). By  the hideously sensible logic of the studio system of the time, Clara was the studio’s top draw, its most reliable meal ticket — therefore too damn reliable to be wasted in a good film. If you threw random junk up around her and it made millions, spending money on commissioning a fine original script, decent co-stars or even an artistic-minded director was actually counter-productive. So here’s the poor little slum kid on the treadmill, patiently waiting for stardom to make it all better, and here’s her studio, using that same priceless, vivid wistfulness to ensure it’s never going to happen.

Right. Next week, it’s back to Oz for awhile. I really, really need to find those slippers again.

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