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ninesense
01/26/2012 = 04:16 AM

The following thoughts started life as a Saturday Nine, but it's Thursday (I never could get the hang of Thursdays) and I prefer to see memes as writing prompts as opposed to blog copouts.

Therefore, I'm going to answer all nine questions in complete sentences, paragraph form, a technique that earned me A-plusses on numerous grammar school book reports.

Douglas Adams once wrote of an imaginary phenomenon wherein one can project one's feelings of helplessness to another being if one is sufficiently far from one's place of birth. He implied that the phenomenon cannot exist on Earth because one is never far enough if one is still on the same planet; Adams' character Arthur Dent (a regular kneebiter) did it once, but he was several light-years away from Earth. That said, I firmly believe I am making total strangers feel completely vulnerable just by walking past them in the supermarket in Las Vegas, nearly an entire nation away from my hometown in Connecticut.

My most vivid memory of such blinding fury that I actually lost control of myself was the time in 2008 when I had just been laid off due to budgetary constraints. One of my bosses walked with me to the lobby to wait for That Man of Mine to come pick me up, and she said, "I'm really sorry." I whirled toward her and said through gritted teeth, "First of all, I don't believe for one second that you have enough soul to be genuinely sorry about this. Second of all, what do you want me to say, I forgive you? I fucking well don't. I blame you, I will blame you forever, and I hope everything you attempt for the rest of your life will be a devastating failure." She blanched, and I realized I had hit a really sore spot. I got simultaneous satisfaction at having revenged myself and guilt at having hurt her, then glee at having her be as hurt as I was, then guilt over the glee. I want to be ashamed of myself for being that angry, but I imagine it's the nature of the beast and that I'm not alone.

I don't defend my musical choices; some of them would be considered embarrassing if I gave a damn about what people think. When someone gives me shit over the fact that my playlists are crammed full of '80s flashbacks such as Fine Young Cannibals, I simply say, "Shut up," and move on.

There are dozens of films that make me cry, but only a few that make me cry even when I'm not watching them. An example: just writing about the scene in Somewhere in Time when Richard is sitting on the veranda, bruised and defeated, and Elise appears in the far background, spots him, picks up her skirts, and starts sprinting toward him, screaming his name — and there are the tears. If you have seen the movie yourself, you may be tearing up yourself at having read that description, and that, my friends, is the only way I have ever truly achieved telepathy.

I met Arlo Guthrie at a hotel in which I was working, when he and his band were playing the Oyster Fest in Milford. He was in the restaurant, ordering a takeout breakfast sandwich and coffee, and I warned him to put the wrappers in the trash, so as to avoid littering. He was amused.

I don't leave home without my wallet, even if I shove it into a pocket rather than carrying a whole purse. I have no money in it, but my ID and my insurance card are in it, which may be important if I (like one of my more divalicious coworkers) ever have to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance because of not liking the smell of the glue from the new carpeting.

There's not much I miss about being a child. It was plenty difficult; in different ways than adulthood is, but the best bits of childhood can be retained after one grows up, and the best bits of adulthood (being able to have a cupcake for no reason other than wanting a cupcake, for example) make up for whatever security I now lack without having the Mom and my dad taking care of everything.

I tend to doubt that I have any passions with which you guys aren't already familiar. Possibly Pinterest. I saw some of my online peeps using it, decided it was another app I didn't need, and now I am completely addicted. Pinterest plays to the theory of a picture being worth ten thousand words (it was, too, ten thousand. Kung-Fu-Tse is spinning in his grave wondering why history threw away nine thousand words from his quotation) and allows you, while you are web-surfing, to click the "pin it!" link and add pictures from the desired website to your little bulletin boards. Let's just say that I have a bulletin board titled "Penguins Don't Need No Reasons" and you can understand the concept.

I am feeling my mortality fairly keenly of late. I hope, having written and published a book, met wonderful people, worked hard, and never killed anyone, I can already say I've had a good run. However, that is not going to stop me from continually looking forward to achieving a better run.

Tags: life

drinking: ice water
listening to: Maria McKee, Show Me Heaven
favorite new restaurant: a thyme for all seasons. off the strip