Playing catch-up seems to be the story of my life, or at any rate the basic theme. The plinky inspired blog part of it consisting of a series of bad English essay assignments. Of the groaning eye rolling kind. Where you agonize over what you could possibly write that might please the teacher and elicit a decent mark, and then you realize it’s got nothing to do with a school grade, and now that you’re an adult (at least chronologically speaking) you can say whatever nonsense pops into your head and you don’t have to please anyone but yourself.
So with that in mind, here goes nothing. You have been warned. Please give me no less than a B.
You get to make a guest appearance on any tv show of your choice. What’ll it be? I’d like to be on a geriatric version of the bachelorette. (The prompt does NOT specify that the tv show of my choice must actually exist at this exact moment in time. Baby Boomer Bachelorette Bonanza – watch for it- and remember, you heard it here first.) I wouldn’t want to be the actual bachelorette of course, because I don’t think I could put up with the stress of a dozen old geezers in fierce competition for my attention. That would be too much like real life. HAHA! Just making sure you’re paying attention. Anyway, I would make my guest appearance on one of the “dates” and pretend to be a former wife or girlfriend of the bachelor. Acting all miffed and put out because he doesn’t appear to remember me or any of the bizarre yet incredibly interesting stories I have to tell about him. If he manages to get through my rantings without having a stroke or admitting to early alzheimers he would earn an automatic rose. Then they could go back to bowling or ordering liver and onions at Denny’s or whatever exciting thing they were up to before I so rudely interupted them.
Describe the most dangerous situation you’ve ever been in. Well, here’s the thing. I probably had no idea it was dangerous at the time and therefore I have no recollection of it at all. I’m beginning to feel just the smallest touch of sympathy for our confused bachelor. Perhaps it was that time I went flying down a black diamond hill and lost both skis and both poles and my sunglasses and every last shred of my dignity trying to sort it all out. At the time I was just annoyed all to hell. In hind sight I suppose losing a few body parts was a distinct possibility.
What issues do you enjoy debating? I don’t like debating anything. Generally speaking, my mind is made up, and I don’t want to listen to someone telling me why I’m wrong. Plus I rarely posess the ambition or the energy to try to convince anyone that I’m right. They either believe it or they don’t, and what difference does it make to me? Really. Not much. So unless it’s okay to say something like “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard and you’re completely full of shit” in a debate, I’ll just pass on the arguing if it’s all the same to you.
Share a fear you’re working to overcome. I suppose that by first making a list of all my fears it would then become less of a conundrum to sort out the ones I’m working on. So, in random order of importance, deep water, flying, heights, speed, horrible weather, dropping dead today or tomorrow and suddenly going blind. Those would probably be the list toppers. Now that I’ve admitted to them, I see no reason at all in working to overcome any one of them. They’re all perfectly rational.
Create a soundtrack that captures the essence of your 2011 so far. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” on an endless replay loop until you want to shoot yourself just to make it stop.
Truth or dare? Used to love playing this as a kid! And not just a little kid either, because it got even more exciting for teenagers who could drive cars and had infinitely more bawdy secrets. And I would usually, at least 9 times out of 10, choose truth over dare. Because it was so easy to lie. I’m rather gifted at that.
If you had your own clothing line what would it be called? “Big and Boring in Basic Black”. And the logo could be four “B”s, two backwards and two forwards, to indicate my creativity and voluptuousness. Or bulges. Take your pick.
List five things you love about your culture. My culture is Canadian and I guess I love it’s diversity most of all. We have been influenced by the French, the English, the Aboriginal Peoples and the Americans and every immigrant population you can think of. Maybe that’s why we have such a weird and wonderful sense of humor, so I’m going to list five things in Canada that are funny. Kids in the Hall, Rick Mercer, Arrogant Worms, SCTV and This Hour has 22 Minutes. Also our politicians and our weather. Okay, sorry, that’s seven things, and still I’m barely skimming the surface. We Canadians are so astonishingly deep.
Invent a new onomatopoeia for one of your favourite sounds. WOOHOO! At last, a REAL down and dirty English assignment that we English majors can really sink our teeth into. Which has driven every intelligent thought I ever had right out of my head. I like the sound of rumbling thunder. Pitter-pattery rain. Magpies squawking on the lawn. The distant whistle of a train. The whirring hum of a fan. Deep church bell chimes. So I will put all that together, probably inspiring the most collosal grumbrumbalyroaring plinketyploppety grawkelawkeling twootwoootwootwootingest schwawmmingly bongalabongalabongaling headache you can possibly imagine. You’re welcome. Enjoy.