me me me me meme
These are the things I would want to ask myself if I weren't me.
1. What do you miss most about your mother?
Her ornery, lively, emotional spirit. Her sense of humor. Her loyalty to me and our family. Her unblanchable curiosity. Her big eyes full of love. I even miss her longwinded, uninterruptable and endlessly tangential stories. Man, I'd give anything to hear her tell me about how she went to the Co-op and ran into four people I either don't know or don't like and then contemplated both navel oranges and Mineola tangerines before buying ice cream instead. And the New York Times. And did she mention the interesting article about chimpanzees on the third page of the Science section?
2. Why did you shave your legs after over two years of hairy splendor?
The principles of it didn't seem so important anymore. I didn't feel like I was "selling out" or what have you in taking that step to look more professional. Plus, I like how it looks.
3. If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
I really want to go to Israel and Occupied Palestine, if I could encase myself in a block of clear bulletproof glass for the duration of the trip, or at least have the psychic powers to foresee whether I'd make it back alive and with all my faculties intact. Since that's not possible, bye-bye Israel.
In terms of the U.S., I want to see Austin, Seattle, Colorado, Santa Fe, Taos, Tucson, Atlanta, Appalachia, Louisville and Nashville. I want to revisit Portland, Eugene, San Francisco and Maine.
On my list of places I'm curious about, but requiring more research, are Mexico, South America, Paris, Prince Edward Island and Cuba.
I'd also like to travel to the bed of this woman I know who will remain nameless.
4. What can you teach me?
That depends on what you know.
Some things I could teach you are how to scan a poem, what those copywriting squiggles mean, who are some good poets, how to find an apartment in New York, how to install a toilet seat, how to listen to music with all of your ear, how to grow up ten years in three months, how to amuse yourself in every town on 87 between Albany and New York, how to get anywhere by subway in Manhattan or Brooklyn, how to be loyal forever, how to cheer up, how to wallow, how to eat a pepper raw and numerous other helpful or not-so-helpful skills.
5. Do you think you'll be done packing when the movers arrive at 11:30 am, just seven short hours away, especially since you're so flagrantly fucking off IMing with Milo and writing and answering these questions?
I'll have to be, won't I?
1. What do you miss most about your mother?
Her ornery, lively, emotional spirit. Her sense of humor. Her loyalty to me and our family. Her unblanchable curiosity. Her big eyes full of love. I even miss her longwinded, uninterruptable and endlessly tangential stories. Man, I'd give anything to hear her tell me about how she went to the Co-op and ran into four people I either don't know or don't like and then contemplated both navel oranges and Mineola tangerines before buying ice cream instead. And the New York Times. And did she mention the interesting article about chimpanzees on the third page of the Science section?
2. Why did you shave your legs after over two years of hairy splendor?
The principles of it didn't seem so important anymore. I didn't feel like I was "selling out" or what have you in taking that step to look more professional. Plus, I like how it looks.
3. If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
I really want to go to Israel and Occupied Palestine, if I could encase myself in a block of clear bulletproof glass for the duration of the trip, or at least have the psychic powers to foresee whether I'd make it back alive and with all my faculties intact. Since that's not possible, bye-bye Israel.
In terms of the U.S., I want to see Austin, Seattle, Colorado, Santa Fe, Taos, Tucson, Atlanta, Appalachia, Louisville and Nashville. I want to revisit Portland, Eugene, San Francisco and Maine.
On my list of places I'm curious about, but requiring more research, are Mexico, South America, Paris, Prince Edward Island and Cuba.
I'd also like to travel to the bed of this woman I know who will remain nameless.
4. What can you teach me?
That depends on what you know.
Some things I could teach you are how to scan a poem, what those copywriting squiggles mean, who are some good poets, how to find an apartment in New York, how to install a toilet seat, how to listen to music with all of your ear, how to grow up ten years in three months, how to amuse yourself in every town on 87 between Albany and New York, how to get anywhere by subway in Manhattan or Brooklyn, how to be loyal forever, how to cheer up, how to wallow, how to eat a pepper raw and numerous other helpful or not-so-helpful skills.
5. Do you think you'll be done packing when the movers arrive at 11:30 am, just seven short hours away, especially since you're so flagrantly fucking off IMing with Milo and writing and answering these questions?
I'll have to be, won't I?