I was recently rewarded for some advice I dished out by being tagged. Contrary to the thanks I received over the advice, I now wonder if the kind words were just warm puffs in my ear. See if I raise my hand and volunteer in the future Utah.
I know. Or at least I think I know. Being tagged is an odd form of paying another blogger a compliment. I appreciate the attention and the friendly effort to highlight another's presence in this ocean of voices I call the Blogosphere. After all, if we don't swing the spotlight on others, many of us will just exist as one more noise in the infinite numbers of voices that make up this written word symphony. A meme allows one to be a singled out soloist, if only for a moment.
The meme is 6 random things about myself. Hmm. Random huh? For some reason I am having trouble with this. Had it just been "6 things about myself" I could go to town. The addition of the word "Random" puts a kind limit on what I pick. It should not constrain my choices, but somehow it has. Random seems to indicate that some things about me are not random while others are.
I could get wrapped up agonizing over this for hours. So I won't. I will start with the first thing that pops into my head.
1. I first knew I lusted after taller women on that first Friday in music class in fourth grade. At Dale Mabry Elementary School in Tampa, Florida Fridays were not dedicated to singing off key, playing goofy instruments, or listening to Hayden or Guy Lomabardo. Friday music class was a trip to pre-pubescent Hell. On Fridays, we were forced to dance. And dance with yucky girls ferchrisakes. Square Dancing, Polkas, and other musical beat tortures that necessitated actually touching girls.
That first Friday of dance was tough. Like two opposing armies facing each other, the boys stood scared and nervous on one wall and the twittering girls with their whispering coniving ways stood grinning from ear to ear on the other. Between us, an unassailable void kept both sides apart. The music teacher resolved the issue by grabbing a boy and pairing them up with a girl. I was coupled with Lois. Lois towered over me by at least six inches. Rail thin, dirty blonde hair, and hands that were huge. Some would call her awkward and gawky.
That first dance class was a case of ambush. I never saw it coming. On the following Fridays though, I had a chance to prepare my mental attitude. While I did not especially enjoy myself, I came to enjoy the close physical proximity I had with Lois. Girls were not so bad after all. They smelled different. They were softer than us guys. And by the end of that fourth grade year they began to look a whole lot better than any guy I knew. Ever since then, long legged women have filled my fantasies. Yeah, so have short legged women. But well, when I see and appreciate an Amazon, I think of Lois.
2. I have never been to Europe. I have never wanted to go to Europe. While my roots can be traced in that direction, I dream of going to New Zealand. Why? Not sure. I have nothing in common with Kiwis except a common language. I do not even know anyone from New Zealand. But there is just something about that country that captures my vacation spirit. Maybe one day I will set foot there.
3. I hate talking on the phone. And the idea of texting just seems even more hateful. Maybe it is because I am often at a loss for words. I need time to collect my thoughts and the immediacy of a phone conversation takes that away.
4. I have size 9 1/2 triple EEE feet. My mom called them shovel feet. Not sure why I am sharing this, but well the idea here is to be random. Relaying one’s shoe size is pretty random. Growing up with feet that do not easily fit into any shoe unless they are a couple of sizes bigger than the length of the foot would indicate caused me to hate shoes. I think my tendency to go barefoot or wear flip flops comes from this aversion of mine to looking like I had clown feet as a child.
5. I have not talked with either brother in several years. Before that a decade passed without any communication between us. There are hard feelings between myself and one brother. The other one, well, I guess cutting them both off seemed to make sense at the time. I admit the problem is more my problem than theirs.
6. I like to puff up and say I have no regrets. I lie. I most certainly have regrets. I just don’t regret the normal stupidity of my past. My regrets are more that I regret building walls between myself and those I should not have. Ties in with number five I guess.
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.
Okay. Drum Roll please. I will now pick some other poor slobs to continue this game of tag. I do not have a very good track record of picking bloggers who are willing to play in these blogging games. But who really cares anyway?
Carlita – I do not think I have ever tagged her
El Cerdo Ignatius – just because he’s been on vacation and deserves it
The Frumpy Professor - I do not remembering ever tagging him. He loses this time.
Old Dude - He will play
Yooper in Crackerland - Just because I like his attitude and he has never been hit by me
Chef Cthulhu - Just to make him set that beer down for a minute
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