Tellin' You Questions, Askin' Me Lies
While I'm skeptical that much will come of this, I don't think I can muster up any real content for today, so here's something that's been going around (catch it!):
Ask me something (in the comments thread) that you think you should know about me, or that you've always wondered about. I may answer honestly, or I may make something up. We'll laugh, we'll cry, we'll annoy our co-workers. We'll walk away better people.
I promise.
Now step up!
14 Comments:
How would you judge Dick Clark's appearance on this year's New Year's Rockin' Eve? Courageous? Pathetic? No more incoherent than your typical Bill O'Reilly screed?
So...why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?
- H
Pete, I give it a 53; the lyrics were funny, but there was no beat.
Hannah, you've asked that one before. Bzzzt! Try another.
Ack! I knew it sounded familiar. I hang my head in shame.
On the other hand, now that you've reminded me, I'm going to start calling you Bjorn. Take that!
- H
I'll take that, if you ASK A QUESTION.
Aren't you at work? Aren't you supposed to be doing work instead of pestering poor innocent Hannahs who are now gunshy after having their original questions SO CRUELLY REJECTED?
(By which I mean, my question is, why the heck do you put up with me?)
(Also, ha! Look what I found while pondering alternate questions: http://www.stupidquestionsanswered.com/ansarch.htm)
(That should keep your coworkers laughing/crying/amused.)
- H
Now that I've had a chance to stop crying over that CRUEL REJECTION I will ask an actual brain-requiring question in hopes of giving you something to do so you don't CRUELLY REJECT anyone else.
What books/writers do you think more people should be reading? Which people? Why?
Cheerio.
Yes, I am at work.
No, pestering PIHs (Poor Innocent Hannahs) is my job.
I put up with you because of . . . um . . . hang on, I know this one . . .
As to the books and writers question:
I hate this question, because I can never (OK, rarely) speak to anything new. But I will answer it because that is my job. (I have many jobs.) Um. I just read "This Shape We're In" by Jonathan Lethem, which was lent to me by someone cool. It was a very weird (hence good) story with a surprising sort of ending so I will not speak of it. I also read an essay by Michael Bishop about Jonathan Swift in Subterranean #2 which I liked, and while I must admit I haven't read very much Jonathan Swift I think Michael Bishop is the bomb, particularly Brittle Innings. I read Rats Saw God and it made me want to read all of Rob Thomas's books. This Tolstoy guy is pretty good, I don't know if anyone's heard of him. And if we're talking comics (which we always are, aren't we?) the series Demo is also very good--it was lent to me by the same cool person that lent me the Lethem.
Karen has a meaty question! Also, I have her books (and some that I want to lend to her). I would like to visit; this weekend isn't good, but maybe in the next few weeks, before school tightens its chokehold on my life . . .
To the question of first love: I never fell in love in high school, because I never dated. I used to be embarrassed about that, but the fact is that I wasn't mature enough for dating, let alone relationships. There is also the fact that, although there were a few girls in my high school whom I think would have been fun dates, for the most part the place was short on interesting girls. Girls with a little bit of attitude. Smart-assed girls. In fact, I have to admit, with apologies to the numerous fascinating women that I know now, that it wasn't until college that I realized girls could be interesting. Smart, pretty, sure; strange, incomprehensible, annoying (I'm thinking of my sisters) -- without a doubt. But probably because I was immature (see above) and wrapped up in my own neuroses, that's about all the thought I put into it.
So my first love was a case of puppy love, and the object of my affection was a girl who lived one floor below me in the dorms freshman year. I won't use her name because this is the Internet, but her first initial was W. I liked her because she was sarcastic, smart, and a redhead. There were other reasons; we were both big fans of the Police, we were both from Minnesota -- but mainly I was attracted to her wit and her looks.
However, the problem with finishing high school with good grades and no social skills is that, well, you enter college as a social retard. I don't think I even considered asking W. out until my feelings were strong enough that I was scared to talk about them. I would find reasons to wander down to her room, but never had anything to say; I was terrified that if I started talking that everything would spill out. Yes, I was one of those creepy/pathetic hangs-around-all-the-time-but-never-says-a-word guys. Not my proudest days. When, in a drunken haze, I finally (this was three or four months after the fact) told her about my feelings, I'm sure she already knew; either mutual friends or my own ridiculous behavior had tipped her off. She let me down very gently. The rejection wasn't a surprise, but it was still painful. If I looked I could probably still find some horribly embarrassing journal entries I wrote about how I would never love anyone again my heart was broken blah blah blah. And, you know, there's a grain of truth in all of that, because that love was pure and naïve and whole-hearted in a way that I don't think I can ever allow myself to feel again.
In retrospect I don't know that W. and I ever truly had much in common, and if I had asked her out in the early stages of my infatuation it would probably have amounted to naught. But then I wouldn't have been able to experience the searing pains and petty jealousies, the drowning of my sorrows in endless binges of cheap beer and Jagermeister. I wouldn't have written maudlin essays and poems about the futility of living without her. I wouldn't have regaled my friends with mournful soliloquies on the subject of why-doesn't-she-love-me until their ears bled! Think of all that I would have missed.
Hope that answers the question :P
Oh, absolutely. I wouldn't take it back, 'cause I'm sure that a) I wouldn't be here now if I hadn't gone through that, and b) if it didn't happen then, it would have happened later.
But I will never drink Jagermeister again. Ish.
God, I am still that lame sometimes. Though never the Jager. Good god, man. But what is it about the first few years of college that make you into an idiot?
OK my 2 questions, one silly, one serious:
1. What is your favorite outfit you ever wore (or wear on a regular basis) and why?
2. Do you get depressed? What sets you off? What do you do about it? (No i'm not looking for advice; just curious)
I cannot answer this question of college = idiocy. I think it has to do with a sudden lack of boundaries, but I'm no sociologist.
1. OK. This was the eighties, keep in mind. I used to have one of those whaddya call 'em shirts--the ones that have the high collars, and no lapels, and button over the throat? And I had to dress up for band concerts and stuff, so I wore it under this funky cardigan that was mostly black with this white chessboard pattern around the middle which was separated by a red stripe. The crowning achievement was the shoes; since I hated (still hate) men's dress shoes, I found some slip-on sneakers that matched the sweater; red, white, and black jazz. Add black pants, and you've got it. I was Bill freakin' Cosby. Or possibly Branford Marsalis. I was confused.
2. Yeah, I get depressed. Things that set me off? Feeling lonely is a big one. Feeling incompetent at school or work or with money; having frustrations with my writing. To some extent I'm prone to Seasonal Affect, although not as much over the past few years. (February is usually kind of a long month.) I used to not do much of anything about it, just wallow. Nowadays I consider whether I've been working out, and how I've been eating; I feel much better when I work out regularly, and if I'm eating lots of junk I tend to get worse. I try to work on stories, because finishing something is always a good feeling. I try not to drink too much, and I try to avoid the news, because it usually makes me feel worse. If there's someone around who doesn't mind listening, I'll talk, or--and this is often most effective for me--I put my frustrations into my writing. Finally, if time and/or money permit, I get out of town. Few things make me feel better than a good hike somewhere without any cars or power lines. I won't claim that those things necessarily work every time, but they usually make me feel better for a little while, at least.
re: Meghan's #1:
I think we may need photographs.
- H
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