In a hospital room. You were naked. I cut the umbilical cord, and the nurses gave you a bath. You quieted down during the bath.
What’s your philosophy on life?
Essentially Catholic.
Negative or optimistic?
Optimistic but cautious. I don’t fear a hit-and-run, but always fasten my seat belts. Stuff like that.
What was your dream growing up?
To be a writer. And hook up with Marlo Thomas.
Worst thing to ever happen to you?
I have few bad memories, and most didn’t carry permanent consequences. My father’s death was pretty rough, though, as was the break-up with my first super-serious girlfriend.
What was your first impression of me?
You were red and slimy and loud.
Tell me one weird fact about you:
I almost shot somebody once. Stupid, appalling, horrifying carelessness. Didn’t happen, and nobody ever knew, but I still occasionally shudder at the memory.
What’s your favorite memory of us?
Too many to choose from. But I truly enjoyed watching you socialize at WriterCon I.
Have you ever kept anything from me?
Oh, dear God, yes.
What do you think of me as a person?
Sweet, and earnest, and funny, and maybe a little too sensitive.
Do you think I’m sane or insane?
Sane, but your focus might be a half-bubble off plumb.
Would you cry for me if I died?
Your job is to cry for me. I mean it.
Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
Both, as necessary, but conscience always comes first.
If you could change anything about me, would you?
No. Your life is your own to form.
How do you fall asleep?
I lie down and close my eyes. In the two or three times per year that I have trouble going to sleep, I internally recite the lyrics to "Beach Baby" (a one-shot song by a group called First Class) until I pass out or get bored of it.
Ever gotten angry with me?
There was an incident at a youth center, which I didn’t witness but about which I later heard. Remember that one?
Would you go on a blind date if I set you up?
I would trust you that much, yes. But I believe you know I’m currently preoccupied.
If you had one day to live, what would you do?
Say my goodbyes, make sure I had on clean underwear, and pray hard.
A million bucks … what would you do with it?
Live on the interest, set up trust funds for my kids and other people that I like, and make sure any remainder goes, on my death, to causes of which I thoroughly approve. (The ACLU need not apply.)
What is your worst fear?
Being unworthy.
Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
Read. Watching movies comes in second. I love writing, but spend less time actually doing that.
Can you sing or dance?
Both, neither enormously well. I’d never make it on American Idol (or try), but my few attempts at karaoke were well received, and I won a prize on one.
In one word, how would you describe me? Be honest …
Sincere.
Will you repost this so I can fill it out?
Maybe, but if I do, it’ll be in a post flocked solely to you (and your brother, if you approve).
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-18 10:57 pm (UTC)In a hospital room. You were naked. I cut the umbilical cord, and the nurses gave you a bath. You quieted down during the bath.
Essentially Catholic.
Optimistic but cautious. I don’t fear a hit-and-run, but always fasten my seat belts. Stuff like that.
To be a writer. And hook up with Marlo Thomas.
I have few bad memories, and most didn’t carry permanent consequences. My father’s death was pretty rough, though, as was the break-up with my first super-serious girlfriend.
You were red and slimy and loud.
I almost shot somebody once. Stupid, appalling, horrifying carelessness. Didn’t happen, and nobody ever knew, but I still occasionally shudder at the memory.
Too many to choose from. But I truly enjoyed watching you socialize at WriterCon I.
Oh, dear God, yes.
Sweet, and earnest, and funny, and maybe a little too sensitive.
Sane, but your focus might be a half-bubble off plumb.
Your job is to cry for me. I mean it.
Both, as necessary, but conscience always comes first.
No. Your life is your own to form.
I lie down and close my eyes. In the two or three times per year that I have trouble going to sleep, I internally recite the lyrics to "Beach Baby" (a one-shot song by a group called First Class) until I pass out or get bored of it.
There was an incident at a youth center, which I didn’t witness but about which I later heard. Remember that one?
I would trust you that much, yes. But I believe you know I’m currently preoccupied.
Say my goodbyes, make sure I had on clean underwear, and pray hard.
Live on the interest, set up trust funds for my kids and other people that I like, and make sure any remainder goes, on my death, to causes of which I thoroughly approve. (The ACLU need not apply.)
Being unworthy.
Read. Watching movies comes in second. I love writing, but spend less time actually doing that.
Both, neither enormously well. I’d never make it on American Idol (or try), but my few attempts at karaoke were well received, and I won a prize on one.
Sincere.
Maybe, but if I do, it’ll be in a post flocked solely to you (and your brother, if you approve).