Filling In the Blanks

Once again I’ve managed to skip a week of prompts and decided to play catch up.  So it’s not a full-blown cop-out,  merely a semi blown one.  I am very good at those, and as everyone knows, one should always do what one does best.

You have ten minutes to interview a celebrity.  Who will it be?  I have no idea, but if I’m actually doing this it is under duress or at gunpoint or because of a death threat.  But if any celebrity would like to interview me, I’m fine with that.  The ten minute time limit is good, since then there would be only one question, because God knows I can blather away about being completely unknown and without any real talents or accomplishments for way longer than that.  I’d pose for pictures too.  And look for myself in the tabloids to see what kind of garbage lies they had to come up with to make me interesting.

List the cities you would consider moving to in the future.  Aquitaine or any similar seaside resort in the south of France.  Puerto Baquerizo Moreno in the Galapagos.  Edinburgh Scotland.  London England.  Marrakech in Morocco.  Montego Bay, Jamaica.  The list is endless, really.  Get me an atlas.

What is the best live musical performance you’ve attended?   Strangely enough I’d have to say Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.  With Donny Osmond.  Way back whenever it was at the Jubilee.  I don’t get out much.

What are your favourite things to photograph?  Ha.  You’re asking a grandmother.  One guess.

Ever won a contest, giveaway, lottery?  Nothing big, but I’ve won small things.  The one that immediately comes to mind is from a sort of field trip I was on with the Women’s Institute to which my mom belonged.  I can’t remember why I was tagging along, and I could not now name the place.  It was some kind of rehabilitation centre.  Not for criminals, but maybe for the mentally ill.  I remember being mildly excited to get a glimpse of real live crazy people.  If that was even what they were.  I was young, and obviously not paying attention.  We were given a tour, and one of the therapeutic activities that was pointed out to us was the manufacturing of stuffed animals by the patients.  Or inmates.  The resident nutballs.  There was either a door prize, or some kind of draw, and that’s what I won.  A little fuzzy yellow and white thing that could have been a dog sitting up on its haunches looking rather pathetic and sad.  I named him Delmore.  The first three letters were the backward initials of my current boyfriend, of whom I wanted more.  Who says teenagers aren’t deep.

What was your childhood dream job?  Marine Biologist.  But when I found out it involved dealing with oceans and aquatic creatures, I changed my mind.

Music for the Road

The best type of music to play while driving is something you can sing along to at the top of your lungs. It may not be pretty, but it will definitely keep you awake and your mind off those road trip snacks which are almost impossible to open with one hand and get crumbs all over the upholstery and down your neck. Belting out those vocals is hands-free. And relatively safe, unless you get totally carried away by your own incredible talent.

It’s a definite plus to know all the words. Or at the very least, be able to make them up as you go along. Hit those high notes! Or not. Who cares? Nobody can hear you. Practice those latent harmonizing skills. Throw in some crazy background vocals. Do you stare at other drivers at a stop light? Of course you don’t – so nobody is staring at you either and there’s absolutely no need to interrupt your own brilliant performance by humming while pretending you’re not.

The music I remember best is what I listened to in my teens. So I tune into a radio station that plays the golden oldies; perfect for this golden oldie. Hearing myself get the lyrics right is kind of astonishing; sort of like when I’m playing Trivial Pursuit and the right answers seem to pop into my brain without any effort at all. (Okay, I admit that happens RARELY, but it does happen.) I don’t know why I know all the words to every Lovin’ Spoonful song ever written but it is what it is and I’ve resigned myself to the fact.

Sharing my dubious ‘talents’ with the rest of the world would probably be mortifying, for everyone. My car acts like a little sound proof box on wheels. I can crank up the volume and turn up the bass and suddenly I sound amazing. Passengers, unfortunately, seem to ruin the acoustics and curb the enthusiasm somehow. Best to do this on your own. And if it’s a long trip, think up some plausible reasons for your croaky hoarse throat before you reach your final destination. Damned air conditioning or something like that.

I’ve tried audio books, talk shows with phone-in participation, classical stations and easy listening – they all lull me to sleep. Whereas my brilliant one woman concerts keep me focused and alert. Plus they’re funny as hell. I’m almost sorry you can’t share them with me, but keeping them private is probably for the best.

Poor radio reception? No problem. Five cd’s of Rod Stewart singing the American standards along with one jumbo pack of red licorice (no crumbs) and I’m set. You’d be surprised at how fast those deafening miles fly by.

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