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Twenty-odd questions

Matt Chao appears to have found the Meme to End Memes, the Twenty Questions to Perplex and Astound, the Breathtakingly Bizawah Whatsit of Stuff. Now, really, how could Your Humble Blogger Resist?

1. You are in the Witness Protection Program and must invent a new first, last, and middle name. What’s your new name?
Um. If I told you, I would have to kill you, wouldn’t I? OK, a new name. Something fun, but sufficiently bland not to inspire suspicion. Charles Martel. No, wait—Abraham Hersch Maimon.

2. You are in a threesome with two famous people, one male & one female, alive or dead (hopefully they’re at least alive in the fantasy). Who are they?
Oh, I sure hope this is the use of the historical present as a substitute for the subjunctive, because I hope that if I am in a threesome, I don’t need to be informed of it during the act. OK, famous sex partners, together. Um. Stephen Spielberg and Amy Irving, back when they were married, around 1986 or so. Maybe 1988, so I’m a trifle older and able to have more fun with it. Although the premise, I think, allows for time travel of one party or the other.
If, in this fantasy, I don’t need to worry about how well the two will get along, I’ll pick Mandy Patinkin and Marilyn Monroe, but I worry about them being all snippy and whatnot, and besides getting distracted from me. I know, this is why I write such lousy pr0n.

3. You are in charge of naming your new band. What’s the name of the band? What’s the name of their first album?
The Vardibidian Big Band: Jump Once More. Too easy, but there it is.

4. You are going to get a free tattoo. What and where is it?
Far, far away from me.

5. You are being forced to listen to one song over and over, ad infinitum, as a form of torture. What song is it?
Can I cheat and say “St. Louis Blues”, so that I at least get a zillion different versions? No? Not in the spirit of the thing? Can I pick a song that’s, like half-an-hour long, so I ... no. OK. The Benny Goodman “Sing, Sing, Sing” from the 1938 Carnegie Hall. It’s 12 minutes long, but you’ve got to give me some kind of a break, right?

6. You are leaving your state/province. What state do you move to?
Californi-a, by preference.

7. You are leaving your country (remember, you’re in the Witness Protection Program). What country do you move to?
England. Surprise!

8. You get to choose one book as the best ever written. What book do you choose?
Now, how does this get enforced. Is this just my testimony as a protected witness, or do I get to name the book and everyone will be somehow forced to agree. I’m picking Little Dorritt, anyway, you know.

9. You get to choose one movie as the best ever made. What movie do you choose?
Or, wait, do I get to pick a movie and have it made all over again, but this time so well it would be the best ever? I mean, I could pick, I don’t know, The Dresser and this time all the flaws would be fixed? No? Or does it mean that you pick a movie and all movies that are better get retroactively destroyed and never made, and no better movies are allowed to be made in the future? Yeesh. His Girl Friday.

10. You get to spend one day each as a bird, an insect, and a mammal. What bird would you be? What insect? What mammal?
I’d be a, um, you know, I’ve never thought about this, and I know very little about how birds actually live. I’ll be a pigeon, I guess, to experience city life in a new way. As for an insect, I guess a, wait, those aren’t technically insects, are they. Hell. Oh! A butterfly! You know, mutant butterflies that eat cars are hardly ever destroyed by giant flit guns in the Holland Tunnel. And if I have to be a (non-human) mammal for a day, I’ll pick ... a horse. There.

11. You must choose to go blind or go deaf. Which do you choose?
Deaf. Easy.

12. You must relive one year of your life. Which would you least like to relive? Which would you most like to relive?
Oooh. The worst, I think, would be 1983. I don’t really remember if all the crud was in that calendar year, but enough of it was. The best? 1993. Although, as a matter of preference, I’d prefer not to.

13. You have a time machine that will take you backwards anywhere from 1800 to the present. What decade do you most want to visit?
The 1890s, I think. Maybe the 1900s. Really, if I could visit within a ten-year period, it would be 1895-1905 or so. I don’t have to actually live there, though, do I?

14. You must choose to go skydiving or very-deep-sea diving. Which do you choose?
Aaaaah! No, no, no! Um, under the sea. I guess. Not thrilled. Aren’t there any questions about whether I prefer La-Z-Boy to Barcalounger?

15. You get to return to the past (using that handy dandy time machine we were talking about before) and have a sexual encounter with a rock star who is no longer alive. Who do you pick?
No longer alive at the time of the visit? Ew. What? Last time, it was specified. OK, fine. Um, is Bette Midler technically alive? ’cos I bet she was a hellcat. Hm. Etta James? What? She’s still alive too? This isn’t easy, is it? No, I’m not doing Bessie Smith, and I’m not having that rock-and-roll argument, either. Um. At this point, I think I’m going to bed early. Wait a minute, is Jayne Mansfield a rock star? No? OK, wait, no, now I’ve got one, Wendy O. Williams. Whew. Can I go now?

16. You get to be a contestant on any game show, airing today or in the past. What show do you want to be on?
Jeopardy! Although it would be kind of cool to be on To Tell the Truth, but then the total lack of anything particularly interesting about my life would be broadcast on national television. I’ll stick with Jeopardy!. You Bet Your Life would come a fair second, though.

17. You are given $1 million dollars but you must give it all to one charity. What charity do you choose?
Oh, dear. Um. Mazon, I guess, but really I could give it to any of a dozen charities and feel happy about it. Oh, say, could I form a charity, give the money to it, and then hire myself as Executive Director?

18. You must ban one word from the dictionary and all usage, to be no longer uttered or written. What word do you ban?
Literally. I am trying to school myself not to mind its use as an intensifier, but it is a word we are all better off without.

19. You can have 100 million dollars tax free but if you take it, you’ll die at the age of fifty. Do you take it?
No, no, no. Selfish of me, I know, but there it is.

20. You know this chick with too much time on her hands who sits and invents quizzes instead of working. Do you tell her to get a life?
No, I don’t. Working is over-rated. What I do is encourage her.

chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,


Thanks for encouraging my mindless quiz-construction! 'Twas *literally* a unique experience to read your answers...

~ amy

david--have you ever interacted with ocelots on a protracted basis? Just curious.

I had a protracted ocelot once, and it hurt like hell.


an ocelot'll investigate absolutely every indication of extraordinary ongoings, unexpected events, and ill-advised adventures. after each exploratory opportunity expires, our exhausted ocelot extends each appendage, exhales, and is anon asleep.

It's just that my experience of ocelots is that they're grumpy, smellier than other cats, and bite a lot. But it sounds like yours is a more positive experience!

there's some shared temperament definitely. alongside, there is a feeling that ocelots mess with the idea of "cat". like a lot of jungle things there's a fun blur.

If it helps, I was reading "ocelot" as "otter" until comment #7. It didn't help? Ah well, didn't think so. Don't mind me, I've forgotten what time zone I'm in.

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