My apologies to any Spanish speakers if the title above is a grammatic fiasco. If it weren't for Dora I'd know no Spanish at all.
P-man, my main Canuck, lobbed one of the vaguest memes in history my way. The rules, as stolen second-hand directly from his blog, are:
-list 8 facts/habits about yourself
-post the rules at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed wherever you damn well please.
-tag
8 people and post their names, go to their blogs and leave them a
comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and ask them to
read your blog.
Eight facts or habits. That's like asking for eight examples of stuff. I choose to assume the ambiguity is intentional, so the interpretation says as much about the responding blogger as the facts themselves. Which leads me to this:
1) I tend to over-analyze rules and requests to the point of mental paralysis. If you've ever sent me an e-mail I've probably pronounced it verbally six different ways in my head to understand the intonation and make sure I get the multiple layers of meaning. You probably didn't know there were multiple layers of meaning there, did you, but I psychoanalyzed your keystrokes and now know you better than you know yourself. In fact, I can tell by the way P-man told me about the meme that he's a Gemini, recently had an argument with Mo-Wo about money, secretly wishes he was Elton John, and is suffering from severe flatulence.
2) I've been assigned a simple task to replace our bathroom door with something a tad thicker so our apartment doesn't sound like an artillery range every time we flush the toilet. I'm convinced this is a simple task involving three easy steps:
a) find door
b) buy door
c) hang door
But I've shown a shocking inability to get past the first step. It's like my programming doesn't allow me to identify a lumber source, just like my programmed inability to arrest a senior executive of OCP. I've got the dimensions on a post-it note that looks like it was inside an embedded soldier's ruck-sack since January, and a blind conviction that a trip to Home Depot would end in a needlessly frustrating shouting match with the lumber-guys. But I've got nothing that looks like a plan.
3) I'm convinced that my socks do not match my outfit. Ever. I like the short socks with the little puff-balls on the back that keep them up, but they don't seem to go with anything.
4) ¿Quien es mas macho? ¿Ricardo Montalban...o Fernando Lamas? Ricardo Montalban es un poco mas macho.
5) I have a cell phone, but I never turn it on. I know...this sort of defeats the purpose of owning a cell phone. I generally only use it to retrieve messages I missed and return the calls days after their relevancy has faded. What happened to old idea of being out? Do you really need to talk to me right now? In my defense, though, my phone sucks; the act of turning it on drains two bars from the battery meter.
6) I'm a big over-tipper. I get some heat from the from other members of my family, who think that extra buck I give the waitress, delivery guy or cab-driver could be the one that plunges us into financial ruin. The way I figure it, though, these people are doing these jobs because we don't want to, and the reason we don't want to do them is because those jobs suck. I'm much more willing to believe a waiter was slow or a bit of a douchebag to me because some knob at table 3 thought his mashed potatoes were too lumpy than that the person is actually an idiot, and they could probably use a little kindness every once in a while.
7) I will never, ever, ever understand why people think this stuff is funny.
8) On the other hand, I think this is totally awesome. I watched part of it Saturday night (in high def, of course) and had we not had guests would have gleefully watched it all night long.
I just can't bring myself to tag other people, especially when I barely have the time to post on their blogs for legitimate reasons. But if you feel the urge to take this one up then knock yourself out.
I haven't watched it much in the last few years because...well, let's just say the quality isn't what it used to be. But even the sad, shuffling episodes I sporadically see nowadays are better than 90% of the pablum the networks offer up every year. And I hold out hope--much like I did 8 years ago when I claimed, "George Lucas could put his big hairy white butt on the screen for two hours and I'd still love it"-- that tonight's movie will have all the wit and brilliance that I remember from the golden years. 
