Existential bohemian indentured to corporate nihlism or, in Heinleins more elegant prose: Stranger in a strange land.
If you can't decipher the above and develop a smile, we arn't going to get along.
I hate lists of demands, I really do--for the ever morphing changes in all of us make such things absurd--but I do have to put down the following stipulations: I lack the fortitude to engage meaningfully with those on anti-depressants or substance abusers generally.
And, with the above hurdles having culled the crowd, welcome to my profile.
Hrrm...well: I'm direct. Though I'm adaptable to a range of personality types, I'm best suited to those both introspective and astute. I'm fit (but do smoke), and have a strong charisma (some would refer to it as crazed--cozy yet?) I'm uncomfortable with small talk and groups--preferring instead the deeper insights provoked from good dialogue one-on-one. I don't watch tv (never owned one) so I am to pop-culture what an orchard is to plastic fruit.
More reasons why I'm an unsuitable male:
I smuggle chocolates into movie theatres.
I'm uglier in person.
I'm not fond of make-up. I like the way people really are. I'm weird like that.
I love Bach.
I don't do trailer camping. Tents with bears sniffing around suit me fine.
I almost exclusively wear cargo pants.
I love the environment more than a perfect lawn.
I like music from other countries and eras.
I rarely drink beer.
I foam at the mouth when reading propoganda in the popular press.
I walk on the beach and, curiously, never run into the millions who say they enjoy doing that. I think this reveals some secret practical joke of the Universe that I'm too dull to understand.
I let--no: welcome--the cats and dog on the bed.
Everytime I visit a zoo I want to free the inmates. And cage the insensitive gawkers.
I HATE animals being in cages. Period. If you like to do that, please feel free to cage yourself for x-amount of hours per day. Perhaps you too will eventually become so messed up you'll see it as your 'little friendly cave'.
I'm the first to tell a guy/girl he/she should stop buying cologne/perfume in drums.
I'll take nips from your cheesecake when you arn't looking.
I say 'you're ever so welcome' snidely when I hold the door open for someone who doesn't acknowledge the act.
I'm neurotic about touching elevator buttons. I use my keys. Yes, I'm the guy who scratches the buttons.
I think it should be compulsary to include a pic taken when you first wake up. So I did. The truth shall set you free. Alone, but free.
I'm not man enough to stand at a urinal while other men engage in conversations about their cars whilst surreptitiously trying to get a glimpse my way.
Sometimes I put random toilet-seats up even when I havn't gone. 'Put the seat down, put the seat down'... Well how about putting it up 50% of the time?
I let wasps land on me. Sometimes I feed them with honey.
I like any insect that doesn't want to eat me. I grow spiders in my house. Other people use fly-paper. It isn't bio-degradable.
I know where I'm driving. I'm never lost. Sometimes I just take the scenic, circuitous route. Enjoy the ride.
I'm a terrible spelar.
Sometimes I'll mis-spell the same word in differant configurations in the same paragraph.
I like editors giving me odd glances above my papers.
I tell people silly things which annoy them, like: run the lid under warm water for 3 seconds. Voila. I then launch into discussions about the space time continuum and contraction/expansion forces while they walk away. They never offer me a pickle. This is annoying.
I like the squishy gooey feeling of mud between my toes.
I write bad poetry but am convinced it's brilliant. If you think it's good, I suspect you of being dropped on your head as a wee one.
I graze at the bulk-nut section.
I don't dye my hair.
I won't change my appearance to impress your friends or enhance your image.
My car is not shiney and new. In fact, it has rust spots. You wouldn't look like a princess in it.
I'm as honest as people can handle.
I am to sarcasm what bug-lights are to people who eat overly-large gooby bits of birthday cake under them.
Post Scriptum: if you like chess, and live locally, gimme a holler. Bunch of us play at a cafe in the west end.
Pps... I've started a thread with a story I'm casually working on in the writing forums called 'The Rain Shroud'.
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