Friday, January 30, 2009

25 things

The latest fad flitting around Facebook is to write 25 random facts about oneself and tag 25 people, who are in turn supposed to write their own 25 and tag their people... It's silly, yes, but I love to read them. Twenty-five is a large enough number that it's necessary either to be flippant or to spend more time than anticipated mulling over it. It's interesting to see what people think of themselves and how telling small facts and details can be.

In the spirit of self-indulgence - and what is a personal blog, if not self indulgent? - I'm copying mine here. People with good sense will stop reading now.

1. I think this sort of exercise will not begin to encapsulate my senses of contradiction – my favorite movie quotation, from Philadelphia Story, is “The time to make up your mind about people is never.”

2. I will do almost anything for people I love; I will do absolutely anything for three former babysitting charges, because I love them more than I love myself.

3. That fact makes me both want to have and fear having children of my own, one day.

4. People often see “quiet,” “frantic,” “panicked” or “observant” and think they’re seeing “serene.” Heh.

5. I’ll always pick coffee shop over bar, except if sangria is involved.

6. I took flying trapeze lessons during college, which meant I often had stigmata-like wounds on my palms from gripping the bar. I loved how I got them, and I loved grossing others out with them. One day I explicated the thesis of “Imagined Communities” to an instructor who made the mistake of inquiring as we both stood two stories in the air on a tiny platform.

7. I tell people I did not study abroad because I was too busy. The truth is that I was too sick.

8. Studies show that many people would opt to die young, lose limbs or go blind rather than be fat. I like to think I have moral fiber and good sense, but I (embarrassedly, and despite internal lecturing) definitely empathize.

9. I have a hard time convincing myself that I became a journalist for reasons other than the fact that I’m not creative enough to write fiction.

10. I have a hard time convincing myself that I’m not a waste of space and resources in general.

11. My mom’s mom died when she was around my age, so nobody else in my immediate family ever met her. Still, there are photos of her - and her framed baby dress - all over my parents’ house. Things have extra value in our family if they were hers.

12. When I walked home on my last day of eighth grade, I bid farewell to the imaginary friend that kept me company when I needed her.

13. I love the fact that I get paid to write and be nosy.

14. My favorite milkshake flavor is black raspberry with thick hot fudge mixed in.

15. My first psychologist taught me how to spell raspberry (as late as high school, I didn’t know it had a “p”). She was also arrested a couple years later after passing out in the local supermarket by the dairy case, huffing whipped cream cans without first bothering to buy them. But that's another story.

16. There were better ones after that, and I love them.

17. Madison Square Park is my ideal place to spend a warm, lazy afternoon.

18. I still don’t like living in New London most of the time, but I treasure the fact that the place taught me to enjoy the company of a broader range of characters. Also, the move finally pushed me to become a yogi. Also, yoga with Coast Guard cadets? Fabulous.

19. I’m proud of my ability to do most anything while one hand is holding a cup of coffee.

20. I only sing when I’m alone, or when a certain toddler refused to sleep without lullabies (see number 2 above; she had to make do with Billy Joel and Disney)

21. I get along well with headstrong people, because I can defer to their decision-making without losing my sense of self.

22. I get really upset when people mistake my tendency to overthink with judgmental silence.

23. I’m simultaneously confident and insecure.

24. I’ve yet to (let myself) fall in love.

25. If you hear someone chuckling and can’t figure out what’s funny, it’s probably just me, back there in my corner, filtering a random observation through the Woody Allen section of my brain.

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