Meme

I have a 1″ scar on my right eyebrow. A friend and I were attacked by a couple drunks while we were out for a walk. It bled so much that a group of twenty people all stopped talking to stare as a cop and I looked for them.

Posters, a large wall mural/hanging thing, and a Japanese woodblock print I found in a snowbank and framed.

Yes. All of them.

I’ve all but given up trying to find any current music that doesn’t suck. The music industry can get fucked in the eye with a crowbar.

No. Should I?

Meaning and direction.

Pedestrians, while driving.

Considering I can’t think of anything, I guess I don’t have one. If my apartment burned down and took everything with it, I’d probably angriest about the fact that I’d have to go buy new clothes. I loathe shopping for clothes.

Six foot two.

No.

Are you serious? My kind don’t belong in the light to begin with. I get sunburned if someone takes a photograph using the flash.

Me. I’m always such a bastard. I never respect my feelings.

Green and red. No, I don’t have those reversed.

California, Vermont, Hawaii, Connecticut, New Jersey, or New Hampshire.

Coffee, and lots of it.

Canadian bacon, pepperoni and pineapple.

Kirsten Dunst.

No. Why would I? What the hell is the matter with you?

The first really meaningful gift I got (from a non-family member) was a framed collage of photos of my group of friends. It was a high school graduation gift.

Would you like me to circle “YES” or “NO” on a sheet of wide-lined looseleaf and hand it back to you before recess?

Yes. My shoulders are hypermobile, and my knees and elbows straighten past 180°.

Whatever is cheap, fits, and is really close to the store’s exit. See the aforementioned comment about hating to shop for clothes.

We’ve got two cats, ostensibly named Niko and Lucky. I refer to the former as “fatty fatty fat fat” and other demeaning fatass-based names. I call the latter one “cat.” There isn’t much point in naming an animal that doesn’t come when you call it.

They’re cats. Keep up.

I’ve done the opposite, and fallen in love with someone when I was leaving. So yes.

A chorus of castrati singing the theme song from Full House.

“A number from one to a hundred.”

I’m not picky. Some would even say that I’m indiscriminate. They would be correct.

Seven.

I lived in England for four months as an exchange student. The full horror of the experience has never left me.

I can resist anything but temptation.

No. I’ve spent 99% of my life in Wisconsin. (God, what a depressing statistic.) No one famous ever comes here.

Of course. I was twelve and stupid once. (Now I’m 26 and stupid.)

No.

Aimlessly browsing the web in search of entertainment.

Megan frequently compliments me about random things. She’s good at that.

How many do you have in stock?

I’m Marc Stephen. My parents are Marcia and Stephen. You do the math.

I wish on stars exactly as often as I get in my car and drive towards the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Pantene Smooth and Sleek. It manages to provide neither adjective.

My handwriting looks like the sort that should be scrawling out hostage demands or suicide notes. Sometimes I like that, sometimes I don’t.

Turkey.

Plenty. I have a short, volatile temper. I frequently don’t treat people around me with the respect they deserve. I don’t return phone calls or email if I don’t feel like it. I could go on, but won’t, since this could be a three-part blog post.

Probably. I think I’d like to get drunk with me.

To a certain extent, yes. But looks only get you so far–after that, you better have a brain and a personality.

My Ataris 2600 and 7800, and my NES.

“No.”

Real: mashed potatoes. From a box: mac and cheese.

There are still a few people who call me Fuzzy. The rest of my nicknames have died out.

Since it’s House’s off season, The 4400. Ah lubs dat show.

BBQ Pork.

Yes, but I very nearly lost the tip of my left index finger when I stuck it in the sprocket of an exercise bicycle. (I was a toddler. My cousin was pedaling at the time.) It had to be sewn back on, and it’s sort of mangled looking. It works fine, though.

I’m rarely more that fifteen feet from a computer at any given time.

I’m going to go get some food after I finish filling out this interminable survey.

I managed to push my old Dodge Daytona to around 120mph.

Huh?

Office noises. I’m at work.

An iced white chocolate mocha.

:: Checks call log ::
Venerable George, one of the monks at Deer Park.

American Idol. I despise it and I want it to die.

June. It’s 100% after the Wisconsin winter death freeze, and before the part of the summer where it’s impossible to go outside without dying in the heat.

Blonde.

Blue. I’m one Aryan-looking dude.

Wendy’s. They have the best spicy chicken sammich.

The Brocach, an Irish pub on the square in Madison. Their roast chicken is amazing.

Meh. I don’t dislike it. Based on the previous two responses, I apparently really like chicken, though.

Some YouTube video comparing Starfox 64 on the N64 to the emulated version on the Wii.

Groundhogs Day.

I played trumpet for eight years in school, but nothing since then. I’d like to pick up guitar, but I don’t have enough ambition to start. I imagine my near-complete lack of musical talent would also be a stumbling block.

Partisan politics are rotting away our democracy. I hate both parties, but I hate the Republicans far more.

Uh… hugs. I guess.

I’m pretty bad at both.

A yo-yo.

God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater by Kurt Vonnegut.

You first.