I think my favorite part of being vitaminned-up is that I have flourescent yellow/green, retro 80s pee. Like, the haircolor of the lead singer of the Misfits from Jem and the Holograms. I think my dayglo urine, in itself, could revive someone from the brink of death.

Hey, thanks oh thanks to myheadspace for telling me how to link stupid stuff. And disturbing stuff. (It saddens me to remember that there was once such a large population of mullet supporters in the world. Actually, they still flourish. Those are three separate links. And there were plenty more to choose from. Gack.) And funny stuff that you MUST see. By the way, myheadspace's diary is locked, but you can go to her profile and email her if you want to peruse. She's coo', she just had to lock to keep her Dad out of her diary. Wouldn't you?

OK. Speaking of myheadspace, she asked me five questions that I've been meaning to get around to answering. Here's the explanation ... the whole thing was started by Pam.

1 -- Leave a comment (I have a "comments" link at the bottom of each of my entries) saying you want to be interviewed. You can comment in my guestbook if you prefer.

2 -- I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.

3 -- You'll update your journal with my five questions, and your five answers.

4 -- You'll include this explanation.

5 -- You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed. (Sorry, kids, but my deadline for this is 7/31/03. I don't have enough time to come up with a ton of good interview questions.)

SPACE QUESTION #1:

"if you could have a superpower which one would you choose? why? do you remember the first time that you heard about it? has your answer to this question changed over time?"

This sounds lame, but I'd probably be a healer. To be able to lay one's hands on another and take away his/her pain is the most powerful thing I can think of. But, I'd be able to take away any pain, both in mind and spirit as well as in body. This isn't necessarily because I'm some super-compassionate Dalai Lama or nuthin', but because others' unhappiness has always made me extremely uncomfortable. Again, this isn't because I'm a saint ... I think it stems from this: When I was little, my mom, who comes from a severely dysfunctional family, had some serious rage issues. She never hit us, but MAN, I've never met another person with such endurance when it comes to screaming. It was terrifying. She's since come to terms with most of her issues, and isn't mad anymore, but when I was little I did all I could to avoid angering her, and I think it's actually made me a more empathetic person. Yeah. So, I'd be an integral healer.

The first time I heard about this power? I guess you hear about it from the Bible or whatever, but I first really thought about it when I was in middle school and was really into the graphic novel series, Elfquest. I know, I know. Comic books are nerdy. Bite me, you Dungeons and Dragons freaks. (Just kidding ... my first boyfriend was a dungeon master. He was also gay. Where am I going with this? Oh, that's right, I'm going into the hole I'm digging for myself.) As I remember, Cutter's lifemate Leetah was a healer. Cool shit. It took a lot out of her, though, so of course, I'm assuming that since I chose such a SELFLESS power, whatever gods were doling out these hypothetical superpowers would throw in the ability to fly or something fun as a bonus. Just kidding.

Funny sidenote: When I was in highschool, my best friend, Nikki, made this dumb game out of coming up with really useless superpowers. My favorite was "Captain Mailbox," who could spontaneously transform himself into, you guessed it, a mailbox.

SPACE QUESTION #2:

"as an actor how do you feel about doing nude scenes? would you do one? if it would depend on the role, what are the criteria that you would use to decide whether to do it or not? would factors other than the role matter, like how large an audience it would reach, who would be in the audience, whether it would be recorded (tv or film vs. theatre), how cold it was outside, how cute the other actors were, whether it was sexy-nude or non-sexy nude, whether it was homo or hetero nudity, or something else that didn't occur to me?"

If a good role called for a nude scene, I don't think I'd have a problem with it. There have been a couple of plays I've seen, such as "Wit" and "Lenny," in which there was full frontal male and female nudity, and it was poignant and, I may go so far as to say, essential to the piece. Well, maybe not essential, but it was definitely a strong choice and very powerful. And baby, any nude scene that I'd be asked to do at this point, I can pretty much guarantee you that it wouldn't be gratuitous T&A. That is to say, I have neither the T nor the A that would attract an audience lookin' fer some live-nude-girly action, so no one would ask me to do any pure porn. ("Pure porn" ... heh ... that's funny.) It's not like when Nicole Kidman had that nude scene on Broadway in "The Blue Room," and even though she's a viable and gifted actress, people went to the show just to see her tatas. But still, if I was hot and was offered a good role asking for nudity, I'd do it, oglers be damned. Criteria? I don't know. Gut feeling, I guess ... if it was a crappy show that no one was going to see, this early in my career I still might do it just for the experience, as long as I felt safe. Overall, the integrity and meaning of the show would be my main concern. Because I am very important. Oh, yes. And an *artiste.* Yes. And better than you. Um ...

AND, THE 3RD ...

"other than the sex stuff, how is what you look for in a friend different than what you look for in a boyfriend if at all? and what is that stuff you look for, by the way?"

I don't really know how to answer this one, as I've had too few boyfriends to actually be able to note any particular patterns in my choices. I don't have a "type," per se. I'm generally attracted to unusual people, whether they're unusual looking, unusually talented, and/or unusually intelligent. So, my overall criteria's not terribly ... um ... unusual. I don't have an itemized checklist for potential boyfriend candidates, and I never really have. It's either there, or it's not. Crushes can definitely develop over time, though, as you get to know someone and see them in various lights.

I like boys who can make me laugh and around whom I feel comfortable enough being myself to make him laugh as well. I'm shy, and can be very self-concious, so being made to feel comfortable is key. Above all, boys I date must be honest and real. I don't play games, but in dating relationships, it only takes one person to start the "game" dynamic, and the other person has no choice but to respond, so whether that person knows it or not, he/she is in the game. That's such shit. If I'm dating you, and I say I like you, then I like you. If I say I'm not looking for a commitment, then I'm not looking for a commitment. That honesty seems to freak boys out sometimes, and they assume I'm "playing them."

One of my big hang-ups about dating, too, is that I don't think it should be terribly different than friendship, other than the free involvement of nookie. I've never been one of those girls who requires a boy to call her every day ... though I do think it's inconsiderate if he says he's going to call and then doesn't. Not because I want him "whupped," but because it's shitty to say one thing and do another, and I try not to do that with any of my friends, regardless of the specificity or category of our relationship. To escalate to "more-than-friends" status, I have to feel that undefinable "spark" blah. Sorry I can't be more specific.

NUMBAH FO-WAH:

"you’re a two month old diarylander. how did you get involved in d-land? how much time do you spend writing entries? reading other diaries? do you read diaries that aren’t on d-land? which is your favorite (on or off) and why? which of your own entries is your favorite? do you go back and read your entries and laugh your ass off? what other online non-diary sites suck up your time?"

Christ, girl, these are long questions. OK, so I first learned of diaryland through my friend Amanda, who writes a beautiful diary that she NEVER UPDATES! Still ... anyway, so I read her diary, then I surfed around on others, and finally got my own. First I was like, "Why the hell not? I'm not a writer, but it might be fun." A week later, I went Gold, now I'm Supergold. Woo. I'm Andrew's bitch. This is the only diary I've ever had, and I haven't really looked on any other sites.

I use my work computer, so I'll often leave an entry to go do work stuff, then come back. Some entries are longer than others, and I generally only update once a day, so update time varies. If work is slow, I spend an embarrassing amount of time reading surfing other people's stuff. Hours. I'm pathetic. It's fun, though, and I'm really OK to leave it at the end of the day, seeing how I have a life and all.

It's been nice to try my hand at writing.

I do go back and read my stuff every once in a while, and sometimes it's funny, but sometimes I think I sound like a schmuck. Such is life. I'm glad that other people seem to think I'm funny ... I didn't realize I was until I was, like, 18.

My favorite diaries, on my buddy list, are all pretty much tied. I like them all for different reasons, so I don't compare them a whole lot. Except ... well ... I've got a soft spot for Amanda's diary, because she's a dear friend, but I WISH SHE'D UPDATE! I put people on my buddy list if their diaries make them seem like someone I'd want to be friends with. Smooch.

AND THE FINAL, #5:

"what was the best vacation you ever took? why? where? with whom? what did you do? did you do it again? if not, are you going to? tell me every detail. did you keep a travel log?"

OK, I've done a good deal of travelling, and I've loved it all, but I don't really count them all as "trips." For example, I studied in London for a semester, but I prefer to think of it as living there for a few months as opposed to visiting. You know?

Anyway, two of my most memorable trips were the cruis down the Danube that I took with my sister, and the rafting expedition in Maine that I took with my best friend and her family. I'm only going to describe the latter, though, because it's easier.

OK, so I was 15 or 16, and my friend, Sarah, invited me to go camping and rafting down the Penobscot River in Maine with her, parents, her sister, and her cousin. Class-four rapids kind of precluded keeping a travel log, so I'll have to go by memory.

It was August. Sarah was a big softball jock and had a game, so we loaded up the van with our gear, attended her game, and left from there. The drive was long, crowded, and beautiful. I sat bitch for most of it, wedged between Sarah, stinky from her softball game, and her cousin Chris, who was our age and cool, but a little whiny. There was much music and laughter and wholesome comeraderie for most of the trip ... Sarah's family is like my second family, so there was very little of that "politeness for the sake of propriety with my friend's parents" crap, and we had no trouble having fun at each other's expenses.

We drove. We drove. We drove. Chris fell asleep on my shoulder and, maybe because he was much bigger than I, the angle of his head on my shoulder somehow caused my spine to twist uncomfortably, and I didn't sleep a wink. But ... have you ever driven through New England? It's beautiful, especially up in the real rural parts. Hills, mountains, trees ... near dawn, I decided to make the best of the situtation and watch the sunrise through the back windshield. I mean, hell, my spine was already being accordioned, what's a little more wrenching? The reverse-rainbow sunrise was incredible.

I knew it would be a charmed trip when, through the back windshield, I saw a baby bear approach the shoulder of the Maine highway, look both ways, and gallumph across the street. Maybe Mama bear was on the other side. Maybe he was actually a fully grown bear, but the growing distance between us from the moving car made him look smaller. Anyway, I'll never forget it.

So, after stopping at 6 a.m. for a big breakfast in some greasy, adorable diner, we arrive at the headquarters for Unicorn Adventure, the organization in charge of our rafting trip. There were 3 boats of 8 people each, I think, 3 professionals, and Heidi, the Head Rafter's girlfriend. The leaders themselves were just like characters out of a movie ...

Rex (I think) was in charge. He was one of those young, weathered, hard-bodied, soft-hearted, shaggy, outdoorsy types who lived on trail mix and beef jerky and could never get completely clean. He really knew his shit, was funny, in a potheaded sort of way, and made everyone on the trip feel very safe and welcome. He had a bit of a wild-man quality to him which was strangely calming in the wilderness.

His girlfriend, Heidi, was a beautiful, ethereal, blonde lady with freckles, armpit hair, and impressive biceps. She didn't speak very much, and all I remember seeing her eat on the trip was strawberries and wine. I'm sure she ate more than that, but the wine and berries were all I specifically remember. We were preparing the fire for dinner, she was sitting by the river, and Rex called down "Heidi, you want some wine?" She looked up at him over her shoulder, squinted in the dying sunlight, and said, "Um ... yeah. Please."

One of my most vivid memories of the trip was painting watercolors with Heidi on the riverbank by our camp, dipping our brushes in the river for wetting and rinsing. She was fierce and peaceful and beautiful and I was fascinated.

Another one of the leaders on our trip was a softspoken, GOD he was gorgeous, sweet-smiling, long-haired hippie. I don't remember his name, so I'll call him Leaf, because he was such a Leaf. For some reason, in my mental images of him, he's always wearing his rafting helmet. He and Heidi were vegetarians.

My boat-leader was a card-carrying carnivore named ... Ryan? Ryan. I swear to God, he was psycho. Skinny and pasty with huge, thick glasses and crazy teeth, like a hard-core computer hacker who only leaves his basement in the summer to play with cityfolk in the forest. Don't get me wrong, he was wonderful, and man, could he yell. A thrill-seeker who never put us in danger, but made sure we made the most of our experience.

OK, the rafting. I love the water, and always have. Rafting was heaven. The water was chilly, but perfect, alternately foamy-tumultuous and still as a mirror; the rapids were challenging and wild, but under the protection of those strong characters, we had such confidence. At least, I did. We got caught under a waterfall and all took turns getting showered. When we finally reached a peaceful current, after a particularly challenging rapid, Ryan yelled "ALL OVERBOARD" and we plunged into the Penobscot and coasted on our backs for what seemed like miles, smiling at the sky. We saw at least 3 moose, and 2 bald eagles.

At the campsite, we built a fire and prepared lobster, chicken breast, baked potatoes, and salad for dinner, with coal-baked strawberry shortcake and hand-beaten whipped cream for dessert. Sarah's mom got drunk from red wine that was tapped from a big metal cask, and was all lovey and giggley. Sarah and I laughed at her.

I wasn't vegetarian at that point, so I ate a feast, forgetting all my food issues for the evening. (I was at my skinniest and food-craziest then.) After desert, we stoked and raised the campfire to dangerously infernal proportions ... there was one woman on the trip, Gretchen, who got bombed and stared worshipfully at the fire until the wee hours.

I shared a tent with Sarah. I seem to remember getting up in the middle of the night to go to the outhouse (yummy), stumbling back, and trying to get into Sarah's parents' tent instead. They woke up, and were somehow lucid enough to make fun of me and point me in the right direction.

The next morning, we had pancakes, berries, and cream for breakfast, and rafted to the end of our course. When we got back to headquarters, I bought a waterproof brown hat with the company's Unicorn logo on it, we said our goodbyes, and got in the van to go home. We stopped in Kennebunkport for dinner, ice cream, and retail before going back to Massachusetts.

God. The whole thing was magical. Sarah and I still talk about it. We did a similar trip the following year, which was fun, but it wasn't as enchanted. Rex was there and had just finished hiking the Appalachian trail, so was looking particularly mangy and hollow. He reported that it was a great thing for him to do, and that he didn't really talk to anyone for 6 months. Talk about return-culture shock. He really looked a bit fried. Sarah's dad, who has zero tact, asked how his "girl" was. Rex was like, "Who?" "Heidi." "Oh, yeah. Heh. Heidi. Heh." That's it.

AND, OK, SPACE ADDED A BONUS QUESTION. YOU LUCKY PEOPLE.

"bonus question (not question number six, because that would be straying from the five-question format): what is your favorite color and your least favorite color? is it one specific shade of those colors, or do you love/hate them all? why? is there an emotional response that you have to them? did you have different favorite colors when you were younger? if yes, how many have you gone through and what were they?

I like, and have always liked, warm reds and purples. To me, they are powerful, and calming, and complex. I don't really have a least favorite color, but I suppose if I had to be a color, I'd be least likely to choose olive green or pastel yellow. Pastels in general kind of get on my nerves.

Phew.

It's so weird to answer questions about yourself and discover that you're writing an essay. Sorry if this was obnoxious. Am I an egotist?

Hell. Who isn't?

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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