Much obliged to the so-hot-I'd-give-up-seven-of-my-fingers-if-God-would-let-me-nail-her (never mind with the obvious comments) Lysa for putting up with my more-than-likely-alcohol-induced senility and RE-sending these questions to me. And much obliged to anyone who is still reading, as you have put up with more hyphenated adjectives than most human beings see in their entire lifetimes. Lysa has provided me with a nifty inciting incident--English term for the day!--to get my creative juices flowing. I'm far too lazy to inspire myself.
The way this works is that I commented on Ly's blog, and Ly sent me five questions. If you comment and request that I interview you, I will send you five profound and probably invasive questions that you must post the answers for (along with this lengthy and rather pointless explanation) on your blog or whatever other forum you use to spew your insipid ramblings into the ether.
Got all that? Good, there's a test later.
1) Has your favorite color changed over the years? If so, what were the other colors, and if so, what has your favorite color been?
My favorite color? This is the first question she poses to me? And here I was thinking she knew me. I think, like most boys with a frightening evil side and frequent desires to commit murder most foul, my favorite color at one time was black. Then some prick of an art teacher probably told me that "black isn't a color" or some such nonsense so I had to find a new one. I'm currently a big fan of red. Perhaps it's got something to do with blood.
2) Can you remember the first time you slow danced? What was it like?
Ah, youth. The first time I recall that I slow danced was, shockingly, not at a school dance. We were in the basement of her house. It was before Junior High, so I hadn't actually been to a school dance yet. I can't remember the song so don't bother asking. I do remember that this girl was also the first girl I kissed, which did not take place in her basement, but while the two of us were sitting in a tree. I know, I know--what a sickening piece of Americana. "Sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g..." But, since the question doesn't ask about the first kiss, I ain't tellin'. Besides, it's rude to kiss and tell.
3) Is there a place you used to go as a child that you miss? Is it a place you could go back to now?
Well, since I don't know at what point we officially stop being a "child", I'm going to go with a spot I used to go in my mid-to-late teens. See, when you're 16ish, you don't often have a solid place to go and drink. So my friends and I decided to take some beers and go to the playground at the end of the street I grew up on. There we sat, feet in the sandbox, drinking Miller Genuine Draft, Keystone Light, Busch Light or any number of other beers that resemble urine in all but serving temperature. It got to be a semi-regular hang-out spot. We even named it: The Sandbox. After a few too many, we'd start to talk about what we were going to end up doing with our lives and invariably one of us would suggest the idea that we open a bar together. And call it "The Sandbox".
In retrospect, it seems a little pathetic: a bunch of guys sitting in a sandbox drinking beers because they're too young to do it legally over someone's house. But, in actuality, it isn't pathetic at all. It's pretty emblematic of being a teenager: time spent with friends, rules being broken, pushing the social envelope to find out what kind of person you really are, wondering about your future. Could I go back today?
Probably, provided the playground is still there. But that WOULD be pathetic. And probably creepy and illegal.
4) What fictional character do you most respect?
This is just unfair. Asking an English teacher to pick one character. How about the first one I can think of: Samwise Gamgee.
5) Who is the cruelest fictional villain?
I repeat my objection; see above. This one is much easier: Iago. He's the freaking man.