-
-
Oh, the typical day. Generally I wake up about eight-thirty and immediately turn on SportsCenter. After getting the scores I check my e-mail, trying and failing to focus on the screen while still waking up. Then I go through my German lessons, reviewing vocabulary and working on some Rosetta Stone exercises. If I'm still half-awake, which I always am, I play some very loud music for a while, generally whatever single is currently my obsession. Then I jump in the shower and get dressed for work.
Walking up to the office takes about a half-hour through some of New York's most boring neighborhoods. After I'm settled, I'll grab lunch somewhere around Bryant Park, moseying if it's nice out. Then the afternoon is generally a flurry, making the calls I have to and keeping tabs on everywhere that's selling, or should be selling, my records. I'll stay at work until about six-thirty, after which I take another route home. A bit of TV, a long dinner, and then too much internet. I generally end the night by listening to a podcast or two, or falling asleep in front of Adult Swim.
If I'm not out on the town for some reason, that's what a day in the life looks like. Not spectacularly exciting, but that's why it's typical. -
I don't know why I'm not more popular. I feel like my affable personality and comic-relief-sidekick looks are not what the chief Formspring audience (read: creepers) are looking for. Why will you not ask me questions about my sexual preferences, Creepers? Second Bananas need love too! Ahem.
So here's the movie recommendation for the reciprocally fascinating Miss Morton. If you've never seen "The Impostors," you must. Done for what must have been two dollars in about a week, it's a pastiche of the old Screwball Comedies of the 1930s. It's got mistaken identities, musical numbers, Nazis, cross-dressing, and jokes about Hamlet. Oh, and an incredible cast: Stanley Tucci, Oliver Platt, Steve Buscemi, Tony Shalhoub, Billy Connolly, Isabella Rosellini, Lili Taylor, Alfred Molina, et cetera. It's no great work of art, but it makes me laugh more than most any other film I've seen.
(And I toiled over which one I'd recommend to you, so whenever you want suggestions...you know where to find me.) -
It's going to be ice cream. Frozen yogurt doesn't feel the same when I'm downing an entire pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie while watching SNL, confident that this is the correct way to spend a Saturday night.
Also? Ice cream knocks me right out. There's nothing better than a coma brought on by Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. -
That's from when I turned my room into a giant pillow fort. (It was raining. I was bored.) The top line says "Rabbitte's Rest." The second line says "No girls allowed," but then that's crossed out and I've scribbled in "Girls strongly encouraged." Pillow forts and amazing women. That's how I (try to) roll.
-
First of all, Emma, I must apologize for the late reply; it has been a rather hectic Christmas. A keen and intelligent mind such as yours demands a quicker response...and a Christmas present to match. I've given it some thought, and here's what I've come up with:
A young lady who immediately knows the derivation of her newly-formed nickname, and who answers and rhetorical question with her own suggestions, has at least some trending Anglophile interests. Less than dangerous and quite more than prevalent on the Internet, these hobbies lead inevitably towards wit and wisdom, specifically more recent touchstones. More than your presumed interests in the arts of the UK, your inferred familiarity with the women of EGB (thinking specifically here of Katie and Rachel) leads me to believe you are at least a bit of a reader. Not just a reader, but one who delves off the beaten path of school assignments and bestsellers to find the truly different, stimulating, and odd. This is perhaps the most admirable trait in any mind, and I'm crossing my fingers that I'm corrct in that regard.
To foster your creative bookshelf, I would give you the gift of "The Book of General Ignorance." Designed as a companion to Mr. Stephen Fry's "QI" quiz program, the tome is chock-full of the intriguing, the extraordinary, and the obvious-but-wrong (those questions where you always thought you knew the answer, but were always a bit off). It's perfect Boxing Day reading, light but completely involving for the post-Christmas doldrums, when you hopefully have all the time for yourself you could possibly want.
Now here's an addendum for your next question, Ms. Peel: If you were to play my Father Christmas, what would I find under the tree? -
Oh, good lord! That's tough. Okay, before I start, I have to say that my childhood was conductive to seeing a lot of cartoons. First we traveled, and then I was sick. Like all the time. Strep four times in a year in 1990. (Or was it '89?) If it was on in the late eighties or early nineties, I watched the heck out of it: Count Duckula, JEM, Denver the Last Dinosaur, Captain Planet, BraveStarr, Gravedale High, ProStars, James Bond Jr., et al. I saw pretty much everything, and dug most of them. (And yes, I did go outside to play, because I was a defender on my local soccer team and I spent about six years there really wanting to play baseball professionally. My youth was not wasted.)
But when it all shakes down, I think I'd have to pick Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I had a bunch of the toys, went to see all of the movies in theaters, had my own Turtles masks. The big one for that, though? I went to see them live and in concert at Radio City Music Hall. I was six, and it was my first real-live rock concert. Sure, it was guys in foam-rubber suits playing keytars, but even then it left quite an impression on me. -
Not a rock...well, I can't say I'm disappointed, but I can also say it would have been neat. Never met a rock that asks neat questions before.
If you're not giving up your identity, I'll make one up for you. We can't by any rights call you Mystery Girl, can we? You're shrewd and cunning, and can hide yourself rather well...I think I have your namesake. We'll call you Emma Peel, after the super-spy of the same name.
Stick around, Miss Peel. I like the cut of your jib. -
Yeah, I'm a crush-whore. But it's okay, because how can you not be with all of these amazing people around?
And I like how you managed to answer me again while still maintaining your anonymity. Well done, clever boy/girl/sentient-rock! (Who knows? You might be. Remember, I only said that was a partial list...) -
I don't feel like I ever have "that dream again," but I definitely have themes that appear occasionally. The problem is that they'll stay vivid, and then I'll have trouble remembering them even five minutes after. It's more a feeling of deja vu afterwards, you know? (Which is odd, because I can remember my first nightmare ever.)
That said, I had recurring dreams for a long time when I was a kid. I dreamed that my bed was taken up to great heights and dropped to the ground over and over again. Around that same time was when my vertigo and dizzy spells began. Still trying to figure out how those connect. -
So long as it gives me manual control of the ship, I'm all for it.
-
Not particularly.
On another note, have you been to see the doctor? I hope that you recover. -
I love you too? No, no question mark there. It's never in doubt.
-
I'll be writing movies. That's been the plan all along. Ideally within the next year or so I'll get serious about selling this script, writing the television pitch I'm working on, getting an agent. This is what I've been meaning to do for a long time, and this is what my background, training, and current line of work prepares me for. I've got to light a fire under that, because I want to. It's what I love doing.
Ideally, this will also involve two bitchin' pads in Los Angeles and New York where I can divide my time, and where I can surround myself with the people that I love.
I want to keep my record company open, and I want to start a band. I want to start a magazine. I want to win an Oscar, because I need a new paperweight. I want to spend the next ten years being young and ambitious and foolish and continuing to build on what I've already done, because I think that the years between 25 and 35 should be about that.
Oh, and I want to meet someone awesome who challenges me and complements me and who I find dead frigging sexy. Perhaps I already have.
Where will I be in ten years? In the midst of all of this. And outrageously happy. -
I remember. I also remember standing by the wall (by the wall).
We were lucky that those guards were such poor shots, and that there was a river right on the other side of that wall. -
God, this question is going to get me into trouble. I'm a crush slut. I've got too many to list. I adore Allison Weiss for her DIY-Nerdy-Rockness, and BOTH Andrea Rosens (yes, both) for their reckless humor and ridiculous New York-centric insights, MeaghanO for not only being the (former) Assistant Scarface but also writing essays that take my breath away, MeekaKitty for having model looks while also being completely wacky and having a slight Batman fixation, Courtney of Hobo Trashcan for constantly and consistently being funnier than every other pop culture writer (except maybe Michelle Collins, because hello, yeah). See? This could go on for a while.
Oh, and the Fabs of EGB. Like the whole site collectively. Except Katiefab is super-adorable, so she stands out. But then more so Rachfab, because outside of this whole online rigmarole she ACTUALLLY fully has my heart. Like in a stupid and sappy way.
Now who are you, Question Asker? Out yourself, because I want to know your story! (Especially if you showed up anywhere in the above partial-sampling list.) -
If you're wondering if I feel something inside myself, then you'd be wondering correctly.
But honestly, I've done it several times, so I don't believe. I know. And I know it hurts like Hell.
But unlike Cher, I really do think I'm strong enough. -
If this is some kind of veiled come-on, it doesn't have to be so veiled. Get over here and you, your rabbit, and Rabbitte will have an amazing time.
Oh, also "RAH RAH RA-AH-AHHHH, ROMA ROMA-MA, GAGA OH-LALA." -
Completely a Ravenclaw. Moderately intelligent, often shoved to the periphery, and rather totally nuts? Yeah, that's me.
-
In theory, it says a lot about what Salinger thinks about human pathology. He's into the idea of people-as-herd, the men who are led towards the cult of personality, hence Holden Caulfield's constant refrain against "phonies."
This is not the best day for me to think kindly on "The Catcher in the Rye." (Thanks, Mark David Chapman.)
You could say that I don't agree, at least not from experience. Perhaps you say something utterly charismatic and people will follow. Perhaps you advance an enigma, and people will pursue it. Something that no one understands? That's phony. And just like Holden Caulfield, I don't abide by phonies, let alone follow their orders. -
I would grab a FIRE EXTINGUISHER and PUT OUT THE FIRE. Then I would grab a BEER and give myself a HIGH FIVE.
-
Mack!’s Bio
Every step in the process going from boy genius to man genius.
