Six Weird Things About Me

I've been "tagged" by my so-called friend, Bev. I'm supposed to quote the rules, so here they are, in her own words, plagiarized directly from her blog, Funny the World, today:

So if you get tagged, here are the rules: Each player of this game starts with the 6 Weird Things About You. People who get tagged need to write a blog entry of their own 6 Weird Things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says you are tagged in their comments and tell them to read your blog

Yeah, I don't understand it, either, but what the hell! I'm Game!!!

1. I finally stopped biting my nails last year. It could've been the drugs, the year in therapy or it could simply be the fact that I've FINALLY gotten some serenity in my inner-life. Whatever it is, after a lifetime of nervously nibbling my fingertips, somehow or other I've started sprouting nails. Why didn't somebody warn me, though, that this would involve cutting, shaping and filing? Thank God I'm not female, a Tranny or a drag, or I'd have to be endlessly painting and scraping them, too! It's like owning a ship.

2. I'm an expert pistol shot. I'd never fired a gun before in my life until I went to Navy bootcamp, in 1838. We had a brief fling with rifles then, but nothing serious. A few years later, while stationed at the Naval Air Test Center in Patuxent River, Maryland, things were slow around the electronics shop, so I signed up to qualify on the standard Navy issue .45 caliber semi-automatic. This so-called pistol has the wallop of a rifle. But I shot expert on the sucker (300 points). I also became an expert at field-stripping and reassembling the weapon in less than a minute. Blindfolded. So don't fuck with me, fellas.

3. I've kicked my legs on the stage of Radio City Music Hall. It was Thanksgiving, 1994. A (then) friend and his son were visiting New York from LA and I'd gone out of my way to arrange exciting things for them to do. My college roommate, who also lived in NYC, had a roommate who was a Rockette. I arranged to get her "house seats" to a performance of the Christmas Show AND for her to meet us after the show to take us around backstage. It never occured to me that we would actually get to stand ON CENTER STAGE, though. But we did. And as we stood there, looking out at the thousands of seats, I couldn't resist the temptation to do a little "kick" in a lame imitation of a Rockette. My friends were very impressed that I actually knew a real-live Rockette.

4. I knew Olympia Dukakis before she became Olympia Dukakis. I loosely attended the University of Delaware and did a boatload of theater while there, including summer theater/stock. One summer (1975) my roommate (see no. 3, above), who ran the theater, decided to hire a professional acting company and to plug in a half dozen student actors in minor roles. So he contracted with The Whole Theater Company of Montclair, New Jersey to come and be "in-residence" for the summer. I was one of the student actors selected to work with them. Olympia came along to direct a production of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", in which I played the role of "Ruckley", the human vegetable who was constantly in a crucifixation pose and had one phrase of dialogue, endlessly repeated throughout, "fffffuuuuccckkk 'eeeemmmm aaaaallll". Olympia swore like a sailor and drank like a fish. We all loved her. Later on, after the movie "Moonstruck" came out in 1987, she became "Olympia Dukakis."

5. I've built a color television from scratch. Okay, it was a Heathkit, but I did it. I've gotten a sense of accomplishment from a lot of things in my life, but that one still ranks up there as one of the top five. I loved the look on my mom's face when those two huge boxes from Benton Harbor Michigan arrived in an 18-wheeler. I disappeared into my bedroom with those two boxes and less than a month later I emerged with a working, 18" color-tv.

6. I believe that a Power Greater than myself saved me from my own insanity. I was a falling down, hopeless drunk up until 1998. Then, in March of that year, a miracle occured. That's what I choose to call it, and that's what I choose to believe. Something, someone, somewhere, did for me what I could not do for myself, and I found myself sitting in a room attached to a church with a bunch of like-minded people who had found an answer to their common problem. In less than an hour I found a spark of hope. I was sick and weak and fearful, but I found hope. And I went back to that church meeting room the next morning, and there they were again! And hope grew. And eventually hope turned into gratitude. And gratitude turned into compassion. And compassion turned into love. And love turned into me.

It's a very good time of the year to think about little miracles, whether it's a hopeless alcoholic or junkie finding a spark of hope at a 12-step meeting in a dingy basement somewhere, or the birth of an infant who would have a profound effect on the world with a message of forgiveness and love.

I know about miracles.

I am one. Every day.

And if that makes me weird, so be it.

So, I have to tag people, too. So far I've tagged exactly one. Someone whose blog is deliciously dreamy (oh, okay, it's because he's in Paris):

Ms C Crisp