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Okay. This one I like, Formspring. I would not want to die the death in The Meaning Of Life. As awesome as being chased by a flock of topless women off a cliff sounds, it's not how I want to personally go. My death needs to be more theatrical. Ideally, it'd be at an opera house. Probably the Met due to my insistence on being an eternal New Yorker. I would be the aged baritone (I'm not going to lie, I'm annoyed my voice has finally settled lower after years of pinging out an A/Bflat whenever I wanted to). I'd probably be playing Iago in Verdi's "Otello", due to my love of that opera/play/role. Otello would do his death aria thing, and as he lay dying, I would seize up of a massive coronary. People would think it was part of the opera and an original interpretation, but it would be real. The false reality would be suspended as paramedics rushed in to try to save me. But it would be too late. I'd be dead, at the ripe old age of 80, with a full house having witnessed my last moments. My death would make the front page of the Times. My obituary would take up over three quarters of the page, noting my doctorate and research, my failed political runs, and my final return to the opera as a grandfatherly baritone in my retirement to do what I loved. My funeral procession, to Greenwood Cemetery (naturally) would have the same aplomb as that of Leonard Bernstein's. My grave tombstone, assuming I didn't go for cremation, would identify me as a teacher and a performer, sort of like how Dumbledore's identified him solely as Headmaster of Hogwarts.
In short, my death would be AWESOME. -
Should have guessed it was you.
Ok, I like girls whose ethnographic origin is of those locales the British Empire controlled around 1920. I also like girls who would be found shopping at Strand or threatening to physically harm me from time to time. Given that you signed this one, I'll also throw in that I have a thing for legs (yes, legs) and thin women. So har.
Also, I'm going for the brownies instead of the cookies. And I should really go to sleep. It's less than 20 for a pan, right? -
Did you look at a map of what the English empire looked like at that time? I like girls from those areas (plus a few others). That's why I'm like Post-Versailles England.
Wasn't the whole Strand bag/glasses/smarter than I am/able to kick me into ditches thing enough? -
Ugh, you got rid of my answer. That sucks. I mean seriously, he's my go to answer for this question.
I don't have anyone to answer for this right now. Normally my KNIFE TO THE EYE urges are more impromptu than anything else. -
Ok, finally came up with an answer for this one. Seriously. I've had this one staring at me for a week.
Other than my usual "intelligence, ability to hold a conversation, tendency to only date girls that are smarter than I am," I've one new one. I'm Post-Versailles England. I like women who, historically, were members of the British Empire at the end of WW1. That sounds horrible, but it's a clever way of putting it if you ask me.
That being said, I'm also a sucker for a cute pair of glasses, could most likely not date anyone who liked Sarah Palin for non comedy reasons, and would say yes to anyone whose bag held a copy of Angels in America, a nerf gun, and a receipt for a paid Pandora account. -
I don't know. That's for you to find out. The road to discovering ones pompousness is a long and winding one.
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Tool not so much. I'll take pompous and insufferable, though. especially when I'm being preachy. But tool? If you're using the lack of intelligence definition, then you've negated the first two terms.
hope this helps, sugah -
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tbh, I was beating Danny Rubin to death with a retractable nightstick. This sadly is a reoccurring fantasy for me.
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Not really sure. It's either my fear of loud noises, cramped spaces, or standardized testing. I'd wager noises as that's been something that I've had for ages, whereas standardized testing is just silly.
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I hate driveways. My driveway at home is fenced in, which is nice for the whole demarcation of property thing, but a bitch to park in. I have to line the car up and kinda semi-parallel park into the spot. It's frustrating. Stopping and starting and making sure the mirrors aren't about to be torn off while doing so and that you don't scratch anything.
Ugh, my driveway. -
Well yes, yes they do. But there isn't (to the best of my knowledge) a feather sexual fetish. At least I hope there isn't. Those guys normally stay to wolves and such. But this is exactly what I meant. Me wanting to be a penguin has nothing to do with furries. It has everything to do with childhood and stuff. I don't know why I've the penguin thing. It doesn't really make any sense to me either, but I've liked them since I was 2 or 3, way before March or Happy Feet, or Penguins becoming the adorable poster children of environmentalism.
Probably has a lot to do with the formal attire. These are birds that are constantly suited up. They're never not ready for a formal situation. And they're as awkward in their movement as I am. -
Here, the my dad in me would say why not, but I'm not my dad, so I suppose a more succinct answer is that I enjoy the thrill. And I'm hoping I get some juicy questions and get to use this little box as my own personal freebie therapist. You'd like that, wouldn't you, little box. An excuse for me to just uncork the neuroses and personality flaws that for some reason define me?
Secondary answer: PolSci department still owes me 2 grand and I want stuff to link to on my to be created website. -
Does hovering constitute flying? If yes, then flying. I've oft dreamed of the ability to just be able to hover, like Magneto. Granted the Magneto dream often includes the ability to fling electromagetic pulses to go with it.
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Ayacheenn
NYC
Ayacheenn’s Bio
Sometimes, I wish I was a penguin. But not in the furry way.
