My friend, Cynthia Leitich Smith, has tagged me. I need to offer "15 weird, random things, facts, habits, or goals" about myself. Problem is, in the three years that I've been blogging here, I've pretty much covered all those things. But here's a few more:
I can talk like Donald Duck. Come on now, try it: Begin by forcing air through the back of your tongue, between your upper and lower molars. Then move your lips.
When I was a kid, there was a bully in our neighborhood who'd steal everyone's lunch money (he's in prison now). He was older than us, and had the bad reputation of beating people to a pulp, so we were afraid of him. My lunch money was spared, however. He thought I was cool because I could talk like Donald Duck. On our way to school, he'd walk up to my friends and rob them of their lunch money. Then he'd turn to me and say, "Talk like Donald Duck." So I would and everyone would laugh. "Ha, ha, ha! You're so cool, Donny. Do it again," he'd say.
I can also make great underarm fart noises
My first job out of college, I worked for a print shop. The receptionist there, I think, had a thing for me. She was one of those types of people who, when she talked, would invade my personal space. If someone is close enough to lick my nose, as far as I'm concerned, their just plain too close. She was constantly right up in my face, while I was constantly backing away. She was about 20 years my senior, divorced, and not very attractive. While she talked, she would touch my hands, which freaked me out because she had a wart on her finger. I was afraid she'd pass it along to me. And guess what? She did! Not too long after I started working there, I grew a wart on my left index finger. My hairs are standing on end as I recall this experience. I snipped the wart off with an Exacto blade, and did my best to keep that woman at arms length. Without touching her.
I can twitch my nose like a rabbit, by flexing my nostril muscles
I hate to dance, and last night my wife took me (cursing and screaming) to a 50th birthday party, given for one of her church friends. I was glad that I went after all, because my wife had such a good time. But I was extremely uncomfortable. This was not the kind of party where people stand around and chat while eating hors d'oeuvres from the tips of toothpicks. These folks threw on some old-school funk music and danced, danced, danced the night away! You should have seen one older guy, 70-ish in age, mopping up the dance floor with a Funky Chicken dance step. He got down! My wife practically begged me to do The Electric slide, but I refused — these were church folk, Baptists, so I hadn't had a drink all night.
The Electric slide is fairly simple: Four steps to the right, four steps to the left, four steps backward, skip to the side, repeat. But I always do this dance like I got a broomstick stuck up my butt — stiff as a scarecrow and off beat. So I watched my wife, and about 30 other partygoers get their slide on, while I nibbled on cake. And luckily, I managed to exclude myself from the Soul Train line, The Macarena, and some other unfamiliar step-and-kick line dance. Ug. I did give in to a romantic slow dance, to which I loved.
I hate DVD movies, preferring VHS. Play the movie, please! I hate clicking through the myriad of options DVDs offer.
My hair has always served as creative self expression. In junior high school, I wore a long afro with a fire-orange spot bleached into the side. In high school, I wore a style in which my friends named 'the school boy.' It was completely straightened and lay sprawled every which-a-way on top of my head. In college, I wore a style that I called The Elvis, a modified high-top fade, heavily relaxed so that a tuft of hair in the front dangled down between my eyes, like Elvis Presley's hair. At one point, I wore a high-top fade with a braided rat-tail at the nape of my neck that was about six-inches long. More recently — and less drastic than my earlier years — dreadlocks and then a fro-hawk.
I'd love to get myself back into shape, and compete one more time in a natural bodybuilding competition, the submaster's category (approx. age 40 through 50).
So, who do I tag? Hillary Clinton. Barack Obama. John McCain. Huckabee (what's his first name?). Ron Paul.