Ask me anything, but I really like questions about drinking, nerdy stuff and writing
Recent Responses
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Look, it is important to like dogs, complete stranger, so if you don't like dogs, it means there is something fundamentally wrong with you, and I hate you. Only I get to not be a dog person, and that's because of my wonderfully tragic story. Everyone else either likes dogs or is a monster. Someday, I will love a dog again.
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This is a really legitimate question. The answer is obvious: neither. See, no one cares about Daken or Bullseye. They exist so Wolverine can be more badass. They are equal in strength, which is weaker than badass.
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Free, non-poisoned candy.
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I had a friend right some sexy slash fiction about "Inuyasha." Is that one of the choices?
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Every Christmas morning, I re-explain what Christmas is, and on one of the Chanukah nights, my parents come to light a candle, I re-explain what Chanukah is. Sometimes, on my birthday, if I have been drinking, I explain to them what my birthday is about.
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I do my best to jog everywhere. Sometimes, friends come and get me because they don't want me jogging to ridiculous places, but I will jog there without a second thought. I don't even care about the weather. I will pack a change of clothes and swap out in the bar bathroom.
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This year, I decided to be more evil. Since Bearded Caleb was not evil, I shaved the beard to become Beardless Caleb. I know that doesn't sound that evil, but if you saw me, clearly, Beardless Caleb is the villain of the story. Now, don't you wish you had bought Bearded Caleb nice things?
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Whoa, the last time I talked to my parents was yesterday, and I think we talked about girls. Specifically, we did talk about girls. That did really, actually happen, and it was a long conversation, and I may have heard my mom say "boobs" more than once, which is the kind of the thing your mom should say to you when you are a thirty-year-old guy. If she had said "breasts," oh, man, I would have rolled up into a ball. Oh, also, we talked about cookies. So, yesterday, I talked to my mom about boobs and cookies, I guess.
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No, honestly, I know that this is being asked by someone who knows me, and they are playing some game because I spent years wondering this, years, actual grown up years wondering this, and I even asked my doctor, who was a real jerk about it, and he wouldn't give me the answer, which hurt my feelers, and then I looked it up, and it's completely mind blowing!
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What I find most fascinating about this is that it is the only question that I ever asked Jeeves, and I asked it a very long time ago, and he didn't have an answer then, so I feel amiss about what to say. There is the obvious and kind answer, which is, "You don't have to. No one says you have to. Well, clearly, someone is saying that you have to, or, at least, you should, but you don't. It's cool not to." That said, seriously, are you someone from my past or just a random internet jerk because that really takes me back. It makes me want to go eat chocolate and pout. What other things that I have always inquired about are going to be asked of me?
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There is only one person in the entire world who you should ever go on a road trip with, and he's so perfect that he's a road trip cliche, but Dennis Hopper. I'd be tear-assing across terrified America in a Dodge Dart with him, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and Suntori Whiskey, screaming about why they don't build astronauts anymore, and then he'd interject to talk about photography or something.
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I'm easily like my mom because of our awesome, blind rages. Can I say that, mom? Also, we are willing to try new foods, and my mom lets me use more profanity around her, and she tends to be bitchier about people behind their backs than my dad is, though he does that, too. She just does it more. My mom, yeah, though I look just like my dad. Seriously, I stole a pair of his jeans, and I grew a beard. I can run farther than him, though. I can run farther than both of them.
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I like that moment in the world where the sun isn't up yet, but there's light from over the horizon because of atmospheric reflection or magic. The world is all gray. Things seem incredibly possible because nothing's begun, but it's already started. I like that time. The opposite time of the day is the worst. When the sun has just set, and there's that orange hanging onto the sky, I always feel like I failed, like I didn't win enough.
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I have this sweater that used to belong to my ex-girlfriend's older brother. When I got it, my ex-girlfriend has stolen it from her brother and given it to her roommate, but I looked better in it, so she stole it back, which was awesome, because when you're given a stolen sweater, do you really think it's yours forever. I've had it ten years, so I'm thinking it's mine now, but it's a gorgeous sweater, all kind of black and from the GAP.
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Please, please, let it be writing, and if it's not, villainy.
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This is such a backwards question for me. It should be, "What is the most amount of baths or showers have you had in a day?" Honestly, I think the longest I went without a shower was on a vacation to Denver with an ex-girlfriend, and I may have had two, maybe three showers in that week, which is crazy, because when I went to Tokyo, I had three baths a day, but seriously, those bathtubs are magic.
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Oh, snap. I totally have this new scar. Well, the doctor says it probably won't scar, so I've been treating it terribly. It's on my chin. I was on my bike, and it was wet, and I was hauling ass downhill, and long story short, that was the most blood I've ever bled, and I had to get two stitches. One of my old students helped put it in. She saw me with her shirt off. She said it wasn't weird, but yes, it was.
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Calling your mom after you lost the fistfight with her and admitting openly that she is, despite how it makes you feel to say it, the "Sexiest Badass in the Room."
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I would like to wake up as the Caleb who has a working jet pack, a flame thrower, thermoptic camouflage, a short-range teleporter/time machine and a cotton bag with a skull on it. For some reason, I can only use two of the things at once, not including the bag, and for another reason, I have to solve all of these puzzles that require different combinations at different times.
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I'm going to say this once, okay, so pay very close attention because I'm paying a lot of money. One juice jar of sweet vermouth, and I don't want this to be the cheapest. Buy one that comes in at least a decent bottle. One juice jar of gin, and I want the word "organic" on it because I'm a jerk. One juice jar of Campari. These better be the big juice jars and not the little ones. I want them big enough to put a fist in. Now, take all of those and pour them into the cleanest, biggest pickle jar you have. Make sure it no longer smells like pickles. Put the lid on it and bring this to my table. Next, I am going to need a very small cocktail glass. The smallest you can get your hands on. I will also need plentiful ice that are one by one by one inch cubes, crystal clear. I am going to need six beautiful oranges and an incredible sharp peeler. I will also need a cocktail shaker and a butter knife and a ladle. Lastly, and this is so important that I could punch someone's jaw off, I am going to need Fee Brothers Orange Bitters. If you think I mean any bitters, I will spit in your face, and then, well, that thing about your jaw. Now, I will fill a cocktail shaker with ice, sprinkle in the orange bitters and ladle in the alcohol mixture. I will stir with a butter knife until my hand is cold from holding the cocktail shaker. While I am doing this, my assistant, who has already washed her hands, will peel a delightful strip of orange peel. She will put this in the glass. It needs to dominate the glass. When my hand is sufficiently cold, I will put the top on the cocktail shaker, and I will gently pour my drink into my tiny glass. It will be so awesome that my assistant will have a light beer, and no one will think that's weird.
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Caleb Buck’s Bio
Eugene, OR
I am a writer. I used to be a teacher who taught writing, and, then, one day, I woke up, and I realized that wasn't the same as being a writer. If I could be an Oxford dropout, I could be a laid-off writing teacher
