My First MEME...Six Weird Things

Well, I was tagged by Reya recently. I usually don’t do Memes because I find most of them to be banal and there is already enough unoriginal content on my site (about 90%) without my having to add to it. But this one is not bad “List Six Weird Things About Yourself”. There are plenty of weird things about me (ask anyone). Like the fact that I only read magazines from back to front. (that doesn’t count as number one). Asking me for six weird things about myself is like asking Warren Buffett for six dollars, so I figure I can do that without much effort. The only hard part is narrowing it down to six, but making it six that don’t make me look really, really weird. Anyway, since Reya was one of the first bloggers to link to me, I think she should be rewarded for her foresight, like someone who bought internet stocks in the early 90s, or the guy who lied and told Billy Joel that chicks dig guys who play the piano. Anyway:



Six Weird Things About Me*

1. I don’t eat olives. Ever. E-V-E-R! If I was ever stuck on an island where the only food source was olives, I wouldn’t starve to death, but only because I would probably kill myself to avoid starvation long before I ever ate that first olive. If I was stuck on island with other people and olives, I would feed them olives to fatten them up, then resort to cannibalism, then kill myself when the human food ran out. Because I’m such a fan of irony, I would probably use the olives to kill myself. Like, if there were cans of olives, I would tie a few unopened cans to a rope and beat myself in the face with it until I died. Or, if it was a bunch of jars of olives, I would break the glass and use the broken pieces to kill myself by slitting my wrists and at the moment before my demise I would find a giant rock and scrawl, in my own blood:

“Olives: not a fan.”

Or, in the ultimate irony, eating the glass. Yes, I would rather eat broken glass than eat olives; I feel that strongly about it.

There are only a handful of other foods that I won’t eat (they are: coconuts, raw tomatoes, cucumbers, capers and milk). But if I was on a deserted island, I wouldn’t be militant about not eating them. If there were other people on the island with me, I would probably make jokes about our food predicament like. “you people are lucky that the crate that washed ashore contained canned tomatoes instead of olives, because if it hadn’t I’d have killed you by now…hahahahaha…I’m just kidding….or am I?” but in the end, I would eat it.

2. I don’t watch sports on TV. Even the big events, like the Super Bowl. Up until few days before the Super Bowl, when my friend, Lord of the Rings, invited me to a Super Bowl party, I didn’t even know (or care) who was playing. I really don’t understand the flabby old guys who are into sports and wear team jerseys and brag about how “we” are going to the championship this year. As if they have anything to do with the outcome. Whether they cheer for “their” team, the opponents, or didn’t watch at all, the outcome would still be the same. It’s all very primitive, like the cavemen who wore wolf skins and danced around the fire to try to absorb the power of the animal spirit; to re-unite with the god head. These jock wanabees wear the jerseys in front of the TV (the campfire) as if the success of their team will empower them to a greatness that has eluded them during a lifetime of drinking beer and complaining from a barstool. I used to work with one of these sad sacks who played minor league baseball for a couple of years and used to brag about how good he was. I still feel guilty about the day I knocked him down a peg.

Has been: Cal Ripkin played baseball until he was in his forties, I’m only forty one. I can still play.

Ninja: Yeah, but the Yankees didn’t want you when you were twenty, what makes you think they’ll take you when you’re forty one.

You could almost hear the sound of his heart breaking.


It’s not that I’m un-athletic; in High School I played soccer (division champs, thankyouverymuch) and I used to do martial arts (and have a few trophies to show for it). But I don’t dig watching other people play sports. I don’t watch people eat food or fix their cars for entertainment, so why would watch them play sports? The only thing it’s acceptable to watch, without participating in, is sex. Porn is, well, porn, after all.


3. I’m very attracted to neurotic girls. (think Meg Ryan, Winona Ryder, Sandra Bullock, Keira Knightley etc.). I think that’s why I have such a crush on Judy Greer. She’s as neurotic as you can possibly get without being actually crazy. There’s a fine line between neurotic and crazy, and Judy Greer has her toes right on the line and is leaning way over.

Contrast this with Angelina Jolie who is so far over the neurotic/crazy line that she can’t even see the line from where she’s standing. It’s not that I don’t find Angelina Jolie attractive, believe me I do, but I don’t think I could date Angelina long term because I don’t think I’d be able to learn to sleep with one eye open. And if you are sleeping in the same bed with someone who used to wear a vial of her lover’s blood around her neck and had a weird (incestuous looking) relationship with brother, then you better learn to sleep with one eye open or you might wake up in a pool of your own blood with your severed genitals lying next to the TV remote and Angelina screaming “I TOLD you I wanted to watch Grey’s Anatomy, you fcuker!!!”.

Before you think I’m nuts, I should mention that I’m not really as in love with Judy Greer as I pretend to be on this blog. Although if Judy ever reads this, I want her to know that I lied in the previous sentence and that I will still marry her, if she’ll have me (and as long as she doesn’t believe in pre-nuptial agreements, or will marry me in a jurisdiction that doesn’t enforce them). Also, if you’re still reading this, Judy, I really liked your performance in What Women Want, as well as your nude scene in What Planet are You From. I think you should’ve gotten an Oscar for that role in What Women Want and whatever award they give for nude scenes (the Woody?) for that other one.



4. There are things that I won’t tell my therapist because I’m afraid she’ll judge me. I guess I would feel worse about this if I didn’t have an unlimited supply of other things to talk about with her. If there’s ever an uncomfortable silence, I can just bring up any one of hundreds of childhood incidents to fill up the time. I guess that’s the bright side of growing up in such a dysfunctional family, you really get you’re money’s worth in therapy. I could alternate between childhood traumas and current neuroses and keep several therapists busy if I wanted to. Anyway, the fact that I’m afraid she’ll think badly of me is odd because she doesn’t judge me when I tell her other things that a normal person (i.e. someone who is not me) would think is unreasonable. She just tries to understand why I did what I did.

Therapist: Did you really break up with her because she had ugly toe nails, or was there another reason?

Ninja: No…it was the toenails…it was definitely the toenails. They were hideous.

Therapist: No one is perfect, maybe you wanted to break up with her and you were looking for something to find wrong with her so that you could break up with her.

Ninja: Well, I didn’t have to look very hard…those toe nails were like fucking talons. I think she could catch salmon swimming upstream with them.

5. I don’t drink alcohol sitting down. Sometimes, I’ll have a glass of wine at dinner, but that’s the only time you’ll ever see me boozing while sitting down. Booze is a poison—fact.** It kills you slowly, but it’ll kill you. And if you’re going to kill yourself, then you should stand up like a man and do it.*** Unless your killing yourself with a jar of olives, in which case you can grab a seat for that one.


6. I won’t run over anyone else’s roadkill. I consider it bad luck. If I see a dead cat or squirrel in the road, especially if it’s only got a single tire track on it (a clean kill!), I will do everything possible except crashing into a tree or another car to avoid running it over. I consider part of my Bushido driving code. I consider killing an animal with a car no different from hunting it with a rifle or killing it on the battle field by bashing it’s head with a large rock . And I think if I run over someone else’s kill, it dishonors the other driver’s warrior spirit as well as the spirit of the prey. It defiles the heroic struggle for life and death between two beings who knew that survival was the sacred feast that would sate only one of them. I imagine that the other driver enjoyed killing the animal, like the bear drawing a mighty salmon from the stream with its teeth, he loved the thing and cherished it immensely, even as he violated it. Also, I don’t like to run over dead animals because the thought of that gross crap on my tires really creeps me out.


Okay, I’m tagging tagging Velvet, Petite Anglaise, Julie Gong, Redacted, KassyK, and Sailor Moon..





* These are things that you‘ll probably wish you didn’t know)

**Other facts: Brianna Banks shaves her va-jay-jay funny; Judy Greer is taller than me, but she probably won’t hold that against me; George Bush isn’t the dumbest one in his family, which is scary as well as a fact.

***Other things you should stand up a like a man to do: Pee (but only if you really are a man).