A few years ago I was looking for information about a motorcycle. The only place I could find it was on Facebook and I became a member of the Facebook community. Since then I’ve discovered that people I haven’t spoken to in 30 years and people I just met want to answer questions about me so they can receive “coins”. My intention here is to set forth the proper responses so that my “friends” can receive more “coins”. I will only post answers to the really tough ones, not things like have I ever eaten a booger (no). So without further ado let’s begin with the most pressing question of all.
Do I have smelly feet? From about 1974 to 1976 the answer would have unequivocally been, yes. In 1974 I shot up from about four feet ten inches tall to about five feet eleven, which meant that I could then obtain sneakers like my basketball idol Walt Frazier wore. After much pleading, cajoling, begging and whining I got a pair of “Clydes”, which were blue suede athletic shoes. If ever there was a bad idea it was putting the feet of a pubescent teenager in blue suede shoes for about 18 hours a day, most of which were spent running. Fortunately for olfactory concerns everywhere, a couple years later I got my driver’s license, which meant I stopped running everywhere and more importantly, discovered women which required I also discover better hygiene. I hope this little insight garners you mondo coins.
Let’s move on to the burning question of trying to determine if I have ever skinny dipped. Let’s see, I grew up in the 1960’s and 70’s. I lived in a town of a few hundred people in a rural area with a creek half a mile from home. I went to a swimming pool practically every day, every summer from the age of 3 until 9th grade. I was one of those people other people talked about who thought I may have been into experimenting with things. You know the kind of things people experimented with in the 70’s. In college I lived in a trailer court with a pool for two years and an apartment complex near a pool my last year of school. You would probably think I did it all the time but no coins for you if you answered yes.
The questions about have I ever had stitches and do I drive too fast can be combined into one answer. I was the kid who when his buddies said I bet you can’t, I usually could. Most of these challenges revolved around, higher, longer and most often faster. When I couldn’t it sometimes ended in stitches. My last surgery put me over 500 stitches, total. None of those came from driving too fast. More importantly my question to you is do I drive too fast for what?
I’ve decided to finish up this little reveal regarding part of my creative side. One of the questions people are whispering about me involves cooking and the other karaoke. More to the point, can I cook and do I enjoy singing karaoke. The short answers are yes and no. The longer answers are below.
My mom got sick when I was a kid and died when we were both too young. I learned to cook young, out of necessity and decided in college to learn to cook things that required more than fat and a frying pan. It has become a lifelong passion. I love to cook and believe, by all accounts from what I’ve heard about my cooking, I’m pretty damn good at it. I even had a friend offer to buy me a restaurant. I don’t want it to become a job. If you’re in the neighborhood stop by with some mystery protein and maybe I’ll treat you to a little cast iron chef treatment.
At the height of the karaoke craze I was selling cars. At the end of a selling marathon a group of us went to a bar where we set about the task of drinking too much. At some point it was determined by the group that I had reached the appropriate level of intoxication to play along with this new fad and I was unceremoniously drug up on stage. About two notes in I realized that I was expected to sing a Jimmy Buffett song. I immediately sobered up and left the stage. Probably the only thing that would have gotten me off the stage faster was a Bob Dylan song or a jetpack strapped to my back. I don’t like Jimmy Buffett and I can’t stand Bob Dylan, primarily because I appreciate music. I know there will be knee jerk reactions to that but that is part of the beauty of music. I don’t have to like what you like and vice versa. I have sung in a choir, a chorus, an a cappella jazz group, a rock band and briefly a funk band. I have been told I sing well. I have almost a three octave range and perfect pitch. I can’t imagine what my life would be without music. As I write this I am singing along with Joan Osborne who is covering a bunch of great R&B and soul songs on her 2002 release, “How Sweet It Is”. Joan and I sound great together all by ourselves but you may not think so, which is a big part of why I don’t sing Karaoke. I don’t want to inflict my musical choices on someone who is mostly defenseless against the karaoke onslaught. Recently, I was in an antiques store where people were singing karaoke. My only defense was to leave. The only thing worse than people singing karaoke in an antiques place is people doing it any other place I happen to be where I have made a commitment to staying by having had the audacity to order food or drink. I don’t get it. I don’t like it and I’m not going to do it. There, you have it. So, if you promise not to sing karaoke I promise I’ll let you have all of the “coins” I earn when I get around to answering stupid questions about you.
