Embarrassing things most people don’t know about me but I’m telling you now because, well, you’re my friends. Also, I’m not sure what else to write about for today’s blog entry.
I sing to my dogs. A lot. I have a whole repertoire of original compositions including such favorites as The Apple Dumpling Gang (“The Apple Dumpling Gang! The Apple Dumpling Gang! Who’s a member of the Apple Dumpling Gang?!” – sung while giving them their apple dumpling-flavored treats), Eat Time (“Eat time! Eat time! Who are the dogs who’ll come for eat time? Eat time! Eat time! Etc.” – sung when breakfast or dinner is served), and The PooPoo PeePee Song (which really needs no explanation). I would, on occasion, serenade my late pug Jelly with Let Me Call You Sweetheart while rubbing her ears, a rare foray into non-original material.
I played the clarinet. Badly. In high school. I was third clarinet which means the back-up to the back-up. Should some horrible fate had befallen the first clarinet on the day of our recital, I would have been called upon to be on standby lest the second clarinet was unable to perform his or her duties. That never happened. After a while, our music teacher, Doc, decided it might be best if I tried my hand (and lips) at the french horn. This was a clear step down from the trumpet, which is the instrument I originally played before being demoted to clarinet. I was reluctant, mainly because the clarinet was so much easier to lug around. “I’m actually better when I’m playing with the others,”was my defense. “No,”whispered Doc, gently disabusing me of the notion that I’d be taking the clarinet home with me that night. “You’re not good.” And so I switched to the french horn. For two weeks. And then switched to shop class.
I’ve watched every episode of Sex and the City – and enjoyed it. My ex and Akemi are huge fans of the show and would watch the dvd’s constantly. Whenever I was in the kitchen, they’d be on in the background, playing in what felt like constant background loops. At first it was annoying, then ignorable, eventually interesting and, finally, great! I still can’t believe Carrie would choose Big over Aiden!
Once, when I was a kid at summer camp, I ate five ice cream sandwiches in one sitting, got violently ill, and didn’t eat another ice cream sandwich for years.
Once, when I was an adult at a dinner party I was hosting, I sampled thirteen different flavors of the home made ice cream I made, got violently ill, and didn’t make ice cream again for years.
Also, there’s this picture: