Well, once again you all have saved the day. I asked for questions, I got questions. You all are like James Lipton with his scary blue notecards. Because of you, I have been saved from the hell of writing another post about band-aids on the sidewalk. I wrote a post about a band-aid on the sidewalk. I mean, really. I apologize.
Here goes nothing:
We have an adorable little page that works at our library. She’s way too cool for small town living (she just turned 20.) She has a brother residing in Seattle. For as much as we would miss her, we are trying to convince her to get out of dodge and move there. Do you recommend Seattle? We’re not friendly in NH to start with, so that part would not be an issue.
Despite my previous post about missing the Midwest so much that my eyelashes hurt, I do absolutely recommend Seattle. It is a rockin’ town and I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t think so. It’s got groovy urban chic-ness, plus mountains and ocean, plus Kenny G lives here, so come ON. Ok, forget about the Kenny G. part. But it is a great city. And if you’re a 20-year-old adorable-little-page type person, I’m sure making friends will not be a problem. Tell her to give it a whirl.
Scottsdale Princess asked:
I will ask you my standard questions.
1) How many licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop?
2) What is your power animal?
Scottsdale. These are your standard questions? Standard? Like, you ask a lot of people these questions? I find that totally fascinating. Much more fascinating than my answers, that’s for sure. I mean, my standard questions are more like: how are you? or are you going to finish that doughnut? or I’m cold, are you cold? Your standard questions are so much better than that. Anyhoo. Licks to the center of a tootsie pop: I feel that Tootsie Pops are like a lovely fruit sucker with a turd in the center. So no licks for me. And my power animal? MY POWER ANIMAL? What language are we speaking right now, because I have no idea what that is. Ok, I just googled it and took a quiz. My power animal is a hummingbird. Shit, man. That ain’t even sexy or nothing. I wanted it to be a cheetah or a wolf of some shit like that. Figures.
Sleepless in Dallas asked:
Why not marry Nordic boy?
I am going to be all mysterious with this one and say: I don’t think I’ve ever said that I am not married to Nordic Boy. I also don’t think I’ve ever said that I am. Oh my goodness look how coy the librarian is being. I’m not saying this to be coy. I’m just saying this to illustrate how little being married means to me. I truly could not care less about whether I’m married or not. It’s good for some practicalities, like making sure your partner can share your benefits and all like that, and I totally get it if it’s important to other people and that’s cool. But to my life, it’s totally irrelevant to my identity. I just loves that dude, that’s all.
She also asked: Why don’t more people have summer homes in Colorado where its perfect summer weather?
Is that true? Colorado has perfect summer weather? My knowledge of Colorado begins with the fact that John Denver sang about it and ends with the fact that Mork and Mindy lived there, so I am woefully underqualified to answer this question. Shazbat.
Bohemian Girl asked:
You forgot your friend’s birthday! What can you make out of duct tape and batteries?
First of all, me forgetting a birthday is highly, highly unlikely. I am kind of obsessed with birthdays. I’ll prove it: today is the birthday of one of my high school boyfriends. I remember it, even to this day. I can’t explain what it is about birthdays. And second of all, the liklihood of me giving anyone a birthday present made out of duct tape and batteries- also very slim. I am the Make-A-Big-Deal-About-Birthdays Doyenne. However! In the interest of playing along, I could make a pretty rad wallet out of duct tape. Really, I could. It’s right in this book. Then, I’d put the batteries in the wallet, you know, as a bonus to the present. Can I just say again that I would never do this? Because it pains me a little, just typing that.
chocolate milk girl asked:
I didn’t get the impression that you grew up in Chicago. I don’t remember why, but I got the distinct idea that it was closer to Detroit. Reveal!
Wow, you are good. Yes, it’s true, I am not from Chicago. I did live there for a spell, but that was as an adult. I was raised outside of Detroit, in Flint, Michigan. If the next thing out of your mouth is “Isn’t that where Michael Moore is from?” I will kick you. Not that I am anti-Michael Moore, actually I am not. It’s just that’s what EVERYONE SAYS. Next time you hear anything about Flint, Michigan, I want you to say the following: “isn’t that where the pop culture librarian is from?” And if you can’t bring yourself to say that, then say “Isn’t that where Ready for the World is from?” Ok? Thanks.
What’s the matter with you that you should miss Chicago in August?
Does Seattle have Potbelly’s yet? Or is that still just a Chicago thing?
Oh Ben. Any question that starts out with “what’s the matter with you…” is just too much to answer all at once. There are just TOO MANY things wrong with me to get into. And also, there is no Potbelly’s in Seattle. And, I have never been to a Potbelly’s, nor even heard of it, so I guess that proves that my ties to Chicago are officially old and decrepit.
katie k asked:
How did you and Nordic Boy become you and Nordic Boy?
Wow. This story has to be saved for another post. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers and getting us to the Going Steady stage was a long, twisty road that barely makes sense to the two of us, let alone explaining it to all of you in a short, pithy fashion. As to how we first met each other, let me just say that it involves deceit, intrigue, a jeep with a hole in the floor, phantom beer, power tools, and a dramatic sliver-in-finger injury. Not exactly a Meg Ryan movie, but it worked for us.
WDL asked about first day on the job:
Again, I’ll have to save that one up for another post. To tide you over, it involved me running around acting like I knew what the hell I was doing. Soon after, I actually did know what I was doing. But that first day? FAKING IT.
How many times have you moved?
Moved cities? 9 or 10 times, I think. I am only counting times when I have actually packed up all my shit and taken it all with me. There were times when I temporarily moved to different dance schools to live when I was growing up, but that was more like I was just taking a few suitcases and then coming home after like 6 months or so, so that doesn’t really feel like moving. If you’re talking moving residences, like within each city, then shit- it’s got to be like twenty times or so over the course of my life. Is that a lot? It sounds like a lot.
How many cars have you owned?
I have officially owned two cars. Is there anything interesting to say about cars? If there is, I don’t know how to. So yeah. Two. One was red and the other was blue. Um. They had wheels and stuff.
Your Dream Dozen for a dinner party? (real, fictional, living or dead, doesn’t matter.)
Ok, these kind of questions are total agony. I over analyze them. I think of all these cool people and inevitabley have too many, so then I systematically eliminate them based on a complicated rubric of made-up bullshittery. I will not play this evil game, not this time! I will just spit out the first dozen I think of.
Eddie Izzard (oh so witty for conversation)
Dostoevsky (probably a bit of a downer, but oh well)
Natalie Wood (I’d ask her about how she drowned and did Christopher Walken or that Hart to Hart guy REALLY have anything to do with it)
Cary Grant (just to hear him call me “darling”)
Sitting Bull (because he’s cool)
John Lennon (from circa 1972)
Gayatri Spivak (hell if we’ll know what she’s saying, but we can all act intellectual)
Tim Gunn (aw, Tim)
David Byrne (he’s probably surprisingly dull)
Marjane Satrapi (she’ll probably want to smoke at the table)
Margaret Cho (someone who swears as much as I do)
M.I.A. (she’ll bring the tunes)
I’ll have you know that I am having a very hard time not going back and editing that list. It’s kind of paining me to just leave it as is. Phyl! You evil question asker!
If you were stuck on an island and only had four things and/or people of your own choosing what would/who they be?
Aw hell. Phyl you are KILLING ME with these questions. I don’t know what my four things would be, but I’m telling you this right now. If I see any polar bears running around or a mysterious run of numbers starts to appear everywhere, I am freaking the fuck OUT.
Sauntering Soul asked:
Did you eat anything weird as a child? Crayons? Mud?
What? You think I was crazy paste-eater-girl, don’t you? You totally do, Sauntering Soul, I can tell. I would be offended, but considering, well, ME, I guess I can’t blame you. However. NO, I have never eaten mud, nor crayons. (and may I just say: CRAYONS? People eat crayons? I have never heard of this. I shudder to think what this would do in the Number Two department, if you know what I mean). I can’t think of a time when I ingested something that I was not supposed to. I did go through a phase where I doused everything I ate with Tabasco sauce when I was younger. In fact, when I was a freshman in college I carried a bottle of it in my coat pocket. If you ever tasted the food at my dorm, you wouldn’t fault me for this. Hey, I know it’s not as interesting anecdote-wise as being a crayola-muncher, but it’s all I’ve got.
What’s the farthest you’ve ever gone on a dare?
I never needed dares to do stupid things as a youngster. I did them all on my own, no prompting necessary. For instance, I volunteered to be the snowball-throwing target for my brothers and his friends when I was in grade school. I stood up against our garage door, and let them pelt me with snowballs. Voluntarily. Who needs to waste a dare on someone when they’re doing stupid shit like that?
What’s the most awesome compliment you’ve ever received?
Someone once said to me that they didn’t really believe that people were living happy, full lives until they met me and now they did believe in it. Just ignore the fact that this was obviously a depressed, Eeyore-like person that had issues that had nothing to do with me, and you’re left with kind of a nice compliment.
What is one thing scientists should invent to make your life easier?
A teleporter. Definitely.
What is the one question you wouldn’t want me to ask?
Any sort of “favorites” question. Favorite color, book, movie. I suck at favorites.
Samantha Jo Campen asked:
If you were a crayon, what color would you be and why?
Again with the crayons. Now that I know crayons are a food group, does this change my answer? Not really. I would be midnight blue. Both for the color and for the name of the color. I like them both.
If you were a Sesame Street character, who would you be and why?
On a day like today, when I am feeling kind of tired and out of ideas to blog about (until you guys rescued me with these questions), I would be that composer guy who tries to compose music but can never finish. Remember? He would start to sing, then end up saying “OH I’M NEVER GOING TO GET IT! NEVER! WHY? WHY? WHY?” and then he would pound his head down on the piano keys. On a better day, I would either be Super Grover (because although he is super he tends to crash into things) or The Amazing Mumford (because I would love to run around doing tricks and saying “A LA PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICHES!”)
Oh my god. I’m spent. I think I’ll go eat me some crayons or something.
Kiss the rings, I’m out.