This is rapidly turning into "meme-haters' hell week".
First the Monday Melee, now this, and there's another one tomorrow.
Maria has a great talent for tracking down good memes and I can never resist the little buggers.
This is one of her's.
Name: Dive. Two of you know why.
Born: November 13, 1958.
Current Status: Fat, ugly, balding, middle-aged and living alone. But my heart, body, mind, soul, "boys' parts", bad shirts and miscellaneous gristly and icky bits of innards belong to my girlfriend.
Eye color: Grey, turning blue in sunlight (apparently). Red on Friday nights after a week of commuting.
Hair color: Used to be blonde when I was young and cute (you've seen the photographs); now it's just "ish". Though I'm really chuffed I've not got any grey yet. I'm about to hit forty-nine, so I'm kind of impressed with that.
My heritage: English; from printing and farming stock. Genetically Saxon, so probably inbred as we've been living in the same few villages for the past 1500 years since we invaded from Germany.
My fear: America will fuck up the world … er … hang on … that's already happened.
Okay, what else can I be scared of?
I don't know, but if it turns out there's an afterlife after all my ranting against such toss, then I'm going to be fucking embarrassed.
My weaknesses: Weaknesses? MOI?
My perfect pizza: There is only one pizza: tomato, basil and mozzarella.
Anybody who puts anything else on top of a pizza base is committing a crime against decency. When you die, hordes of big fat Italian Mamas dressed in black will beat your filthy, perverted soul with shitty sticks for all eternity.
My thoughts on first waking up: AAAAAUUUUUUUGGGHHHHH! It's four-forty in the fucking morning and two alarm clocks are shrieking at me from the far corners of the bedroom. I have half an hour to be showered, dressed and out of the house for my three-and-a-half hour journey to work. Kill me now!
My bedtime: Collapse into bed almost as soon as I get home and try to be asleep as soon after nine as possible.
My most missed memory: I can't remember. If I could remember it, it wouldn't be missed, would it?
Pepsi or Coke: Gack! Neither! Why would any sane person put that shit in their mouths?
Single or group dates: The only dates I've ever had are the ones off palm trees. Stupid fucking question.
Adidas or Nike: Converse All Stars.
Tea or Nestea: What the fuck's "Nestea"? I drink green tea. The real stuff from Shizuoka. Proper sen-cha; not that industrial grade ban-cha crap you get in shops.
Chocolate or vanilla: Green and Black's Organic Maya Gold. Though their vanilla white chocolate is more addictive than crack.
Cappuccino or coffee: Organic fairtrade skinny latte with an extra shot first thing, then organic fairtrade espresso for the rest of the day.
We have a Brazilian deli across the street from the office. Their coffee is sublime.
At home I drink Cuban … Real Cuban, bought through the Cuba Solidarity Campaign so the money goes direct to Cuban farmers and says "Fuck you!" to the US (see Marxist Shopping in my sidebar).
Do you...
Smoke: Never have done. At least not tobacco. A fair few Camberwell Carrots, though.
Curse: What me? Never! Fuck off!
Take a shower: Every morning at some obscene hour before five o'clock. Sometimes at the office, too. The commute stinks.
Have a crush: I did. Now it's turned big-time serious.
Think you have been in love: Nope. I know it.
Go to school: I design girls' schools for a living so I see rather too much school for my own sanity. On top of that, on Thursday evenings I have Japanese lessons.
Want to get married: Yes, actually. Odd but true.
Believe in yourself: I'm the only thing I believe in. The rest of you are a figment of my twisted and occasionally surprising imagination.
Think you're a health freak? No. I'm a great cook and I eat fresh organic food. It's the twats who eat pre-prepared crap or junk food who are the freaks. How did eating real food get to be "freaky"? Preparing and cooking real food is a sensual pleasure almost as good as eating it. I'm proud to say I've never eaten a Mc.D or a KFC or a Pizza Hut or any of that other shitty shit and I never will. Don't get me started.
Have you:
Drank alcohol? It's my mission in life.
Gone to the mall? On rainy days when I'm feeling lonesome I'll mallrat (it's a verb if I say it's a verb). It can be fun. You get to drink a lot of coffee with different friends as they drift through and you can watch pretty girls (or in the case of the malls I use: fat, ugly bottle-blonde tarts with hordes of screaming kids hanging off them).
Been on stage? All my life. Other than festivals (which don't really count), the biggest crowd I've ever played to was a little over twenty-five thousand. Walking out on stage, sticking an immaculate hand-tooled boot up on the monitors, gazing out over a whole town's worth of people, cranking up my Les Paul and watching 'em go apeshit is one of the sweeter moments of my life. Phil was there, too for that one, playing bass.
Sigh … Lost youth … Hey, but at least we did it!
Eaten sushi? All the time. Whalemeat, too (OW! Sorry, Kate).
Dyed your hair? Nope. Though I shaved it all off once. And then let it grow half way down my back so I had a ponytail and a goatee (how sad was that!!!).
Have you ever:
Played a stripping game? Not since college.
Played a drinking game? I often start watching "Withnail and I" with a roomful of booze, but I've never even got as far as the cottage without giving up.
Changed who you were to fit in? Bollocks to that. The world can change to suit me or it can fuck off.
Done something your kids will never know about? So many things that I almost wish I had kids so I could embarrass the little buggers.
Age you are hoping to:
Get married: Hey! We did this one earlier. Who writes these things? Yes. I am hoping to marry my girlfriend.
Take your dream vacation: Someday before I die.
In a girl or a guy (whatever)
Best eye color: Brown. The darker the better.
Best hair color: Dark every time. Blondes can go play with gentlemen. Bottle-blondes can stand in the corner while we all point and laugh. Redheads are okay but never breed with 'em in case you get a ginger boy.
Short hair or long hair? No preference. I love hair that likes to party; that does everything that it shouldn't. Defiant, crazy nutjob hair with attitude.
Best attitude: Feisty. I love a girl who can throw a good strop, then come to bed and tear the plaster off the walls.
What were you doing....
A minute ago? Typing this stupid meme and drinking coffee.
An hour ago? Designing a new sixth form centre for a girls' school in the midlands.
A month ago? I can't remember that far back. Probably ranting about something.
A year ago? Having a serious crush on someone without knowing that they felt the same way about me. What a couple of dorks.
Finish the sentences:
I love: Pink leather mariachi trousers. What kind of stupid question is that?
I feel: Every one of the forty-eight years I've been stumbling around this crappy planet.
I hate: Waking up with a screaming headache and nausea when I've not drunk anything the night before. Boy, that really fucking sucks!
I hide: All my old Love and Rockets and underground comics in a spare bedroom and keep all my classics and intellectual books where people can see them.
I miss: The Cold War, reading a Peanuts cartoon I've not read before, being on stage, my taut young body, hearing Miles Davis' "Kind Of Blue" for the very first time, and my Dad.
I need: a good kick up the arse.
Thanks, Maria. More memes please; the meme-haters love 'em really … hee hee.
19 comments:
*Kick*
Well you asked for it, Dive!
What are Love and Rockets? Is this yet another age thing or is it a location thing?
Age, Vic.
Los Bros Hernandez started their comic just after punk (I mean real 1976 punk, not the pathetic crap you get now) and are still going strong. I've spent my life growing old with Maggie and Hopey and Las Locas. By the way, Maggie and Hopey are lesbians and Hopey plays bass. Go figure …
You can buy the whole lot in book form now, though it'll cost you a few hundred dollars to catch up.
Check out the old photos I posted of my studio. There's a huge Love and Rockets book signing poster on the wall over the mixing desk.
Sounds awesome Dive, I'll check it out.
I know why your name is Dive! I know why your name is Dive! Way to weave in the Withnail and I references there. I hope you and your girlfriend get married---then you'll have to spill the beans about her.
Hiding your comics and displaying the smarty pants books--that's great, Dive.
So, does your girlfriend fit the preferences here?
There'll be beans all over the place, Sassy.
You're invited, by the way.
And Robyn, I'm too much of a gentleman to say.
But yes, she has dark brown eyes, and hair with attitude.
I laughed out loud at least four times. Are you having a feisty day? Or is it just a feisty life?
These days, Fresh, life has become intercoursingly groovy.
hilarious, sugar! you don't need my drugs, you're there already! perfect tueday meme for me to read...
You're too kind, Savannah.
Where do I even start?
Whalemeat - Neanderthal.
Bottle blonde - How do you think i get my glorious fuck you pink locks? I bleach my hair.
Ginger Boy - My own nephew Omlette is a ginger haired boy and although we all crowded around the delivery bed and said where the fuck, he's too cool for school.
Hee hee, Kate.
Whalemeat: YUMMY!
Bottle blonde: Your hair is WAY too cool to be termed bottle anything. That pink rocks, as does any other colour you use.
You know the type I meant; long, lank hair with an inch or two of dark roots. Ick.
And Omelette is the coolest looking kid! He's a dead ringer for a young Winston Churchill.
Love the Love and rockets, and smart to stay away from McD's and KFC etc. you don't want to become a FAT American. I could go on about that one.
Good post, 1958 was a good year... I guess since I was born then as well.
Your forgiven.
I saw the coolest little voodoo pin cushion dolls made especially when thinking of ex's. I so should send you and Full one. :)
Hee hee both of you.
And yes, Rich, it was a great vintage year.
Bro, I should have some zebra and/or wildebeest in a couple of weeks if the butcher comes through, so we can have us an indoor safari feast.
Maybe we could re-kindle Darwin's "Glutton Club" from his Cambridge years and eat creatures not normally found on menus.
I also still have some of the coffee and Havana club rum I brought back from Cuba, so that could be in danger too.
I played bass at that gig?
My memory is worse than yours.
Quote of the day...it's a verb if I say it's a verb.
And yay for marriage (as long as it's not happening to me)!
So the alternative animal eating is a family trait I take it?
Does Full really get Zebra from his butcher? I have enough trouble getting a decent porterhouse steak from mine.
Phil: It was either you or Robbie but I thought it was you.
Hey ho … I can't remember last week, let alone the eighties.
T: It's a verb.
Kate: We're having reindeer at Christmas.
And yes, our local organic butcher and game merchant likes to get odd stuff in from around the world and Phil likes to eat it.
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