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In which I gently navigate my way though the thoughtful inquisition of the friendly but mysterious Pam:

1. What do you think of South Carolina?
To be honest, the only time I’ve ever been to South Carolina was when I drove to/from Florida during Spring Break my senior year in college — meaning that my impressions of the state are basically limited to 1) hazy memories of South of the Border; and 2) a less hazy memory of stopping for gas somewhere off the highway down near the Georgia border. We’d been driving south for about 16 hours at that point, so we took advantage of the stop to step out and stretch our legs a bit… after I gassed up, the three of us walked into the little gas station to pay and pick up a couple of sodas. An old white dude stood behind the counter, took a long look at my friend Demoncrat (who has the jet black hair and prominent nose that basically scream, “Hi, I’m Jewish!”), my friend DT (a tall Indian dude from Minnesota) and me (scruffy looking white dude in dirty jeans and a plaid shirt)… then took a very clear and prominent glance back at the shotgun hanging on the wall behind him… and then turned back to us and said in what I can only swear to you is not a lie, “You boys ain’t from around here, are you?”

(Our response: “No, sir. Uh… we’ll be going now.”)

2. When did you last tell a lie?
What’s remarkable is that it’s now 9:16am and I don’t think I’ve told a single lie yet today. Which, when you have hordes of young kids constantly making demands on you, is kind of remarkable. That being said, I think the last lie I told was to my kids at around 6pm last night: “If you’re good, maybe we can have ice cream for dessert.” I never had any intention of delivering on that offer.

3. Amy Winehouse or Courtney Love? Why?
Courtney Love all the way. Yeah, she’s a train wreck of epic proportions, but Live Through This is an emotional powerhouse of an album that completely blows out of the water anything Amy Winehouse has done (or, realistically, will probably ever do). “Doll Parts” alone earns her immortality.

4. What did you want to be when you grew up?
I would have told you that I wanted to be an oceanographer, but that was because I didn’t understand what an oceanographer was… what I really meant was marine biologist. I had a serious shark/whale fixation thing going on when I was a kid. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that I suck at science and math — and thus, the world was robbed of my sea-going genius.

(Runner-up: LF for the Boston Red Sox)

5. What’s your favorite medical specialty?
Trepanation. Gotta let the evil spirits out somehow.

6. How would you spend a day alone?
If I had a complete day to myself with no obligations to anyone else whatsoever? I can’t even imagine. But I guess I’m obligated to try:

8am: Awaken to the gentle sounds of happy birds and light traffic outside, refreshed from a long night’s sleep uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress.

8:50am: After a long and luxurious hot shower uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress, I sit down at my dining room table with a fresh cinnamon raisin bagel, veggie cream cheese, and the Boston Globe sports section. I eat leisurely and peacefully. The sun is shining.

9:30am: I hop into my car, pull out of my driveway, and make my way to the Mass Pike. There is virtually no traffic. I head into the city, and pull onto Newbury Street. I find an open spot with a broken meter, and park effortlessly.

10am-12:30pm: I browse through used bookstores (miraculously, both Spenser’s Mystery Bookshop and Avenue Victor Hugo have re-opened) and used CD shops. I locate all kinds of wonderful things at remarkable discounts.

12:30-1:30pm: Lunch at Sonsie, where I enjoy a couple of beers and some good eats while I soak up the sunshine and watch the students, suits and Eurotrash wander by.

2:15pm: I arrive back at my house, check on my Yahoo! MLB fantasy team – which has miraculously risen to first place overnight – and then head outside for some yard work. I mow, I mulch, I rake and then just as I finish laying down some seed and fertilizer… it begins to rain.

4:15pm: I walk back inside, take off my shoes, and enjoy another long, hot shower uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress.

4:50pm-5:45pm: I lie on my bed and read. During the day. Without interruption.

6pm: I wander downstairs and rustle up some dinner. It’s just me, so nothing fancy — a frozen pizza will be fine. Then I wander into my living room, fire up my reason for living… and vegetate for nearly 2 hours.

8pm: I head back upstairs, fill my whirlpool tub with hot water, and boil myself like a lobster for a full hour uninterrupted by youthful screams of distress. I read as I do so, and manage not to drop my book into the water.

9pm: Back downstairs to the warm, friendly glow of my plasma, which welcomes me with the opening credits of some movie I’ve been dying to see for years but never think to put on my Netflix queue… I settle down for two solid hours of mindless entertainment.

11pm: I head upstairs and fall asleep. In the middle of the bed.

7. Whom would you most like to cook for?
All of you, of course.

In which I lob back witty rejoinders to the inquiries of the man, the myth, the legend… Mr. Big Dubya:

1. What do you think of the designated hitter?
I grew up in Boston during the DH era – and I worship at the altar of Big Papi – so you know I’ve gotta be pro-DH. I understand and, from a philosophical standpoint, sympathize with those who say that the DH is an affront to the purity of the game. However… with the exception of Micah Owings, pitchers suck at hitting. Having pitchers come to the plate is by and large the same thing as an automatic out — which removes drama and possibility from the game. The DH (in theory, at least) is the antithesis of this, and I can’t imagine being opposed to anything that makes the game more exciting.

2. When did you last shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die?
August, 1999. Don’t remember the exact date.

3. Batman or Superman? Why?
Well, this is easy: you’ve gotta go with Batman. Nothing against Superman, who can be a fascinating figure, especially when you take into account the whole “last survivor of a dead race” thing – trash ’em if you must, but the Crash Test Dummies captured some of the pathos of the character in their wonderful Superman’s Song – but the mythology of the Batman character is tough to beat. A child raised in privilege who witnessed the cold-blooded murder of his parents… tormented by his inability to save them, he is driven by guilt and vengeance to hone his mind and body to unprecedented levels and adopt another identity – a different, darker self – who can erupt from the shadows to protect the innocent and violently punish those who would do wrong.

4. What did you do on your 21st birthday?
I wrote about it here.

5. What’s your favorite breakfast cereal?
Golden Grahams. It’s a pleasure I deny myself most of the time, but on those occasions when I indulge… mercy.

6. How would you explain “string theory” to a child?
“Daddy was an English major. Let’s go wiki that.”

7. Whom would you most like to see jailed for making bad movies?
That’s an interesting question, and one I think you have to answer in terms of who is most guilty of betraying their talent — and who torments us most relentlessly with hollow, awful parodies of what was once a brilliant, shining presence on the screen. There are a lot of candidates, but no one comes to mind more forcefully than Eddie Murphy. When he’s on – take Trading Places, or Coming To America, or his brilliant dual performances in the mostly-forgotten Bowfinger – he’s just mesmerizing. But a quick review of his resume on IMDB is just painful: Beverly Hills Cop III… Metro… Norbit… Pluto Nash… Showtime… Daddy Day Care…

Guilty. Throw away the key.

In which I attempt to dodge the slings and arrows of Jonniker:

1. What do you think of pork belly?
As in the trading commodity or the foodstuff? Honestly, I’m indifferent to the trading commodity – the numbers in my investment portfolio are about as impressive as, say, Julio Lugo’s – and as a guy who’s lived virtually his entire life in New England and/or San Francisco, I can honestly say that I’ve never encountered (never mind actually consumed) pork belly on a plate.

I hope that answered your question. Unless you meant “pork belly” as some kind of metaphor, and I’m just missing the point. As I usually do.

2. When did you last do a shot of tequila?
To the best of my knowledge, that would be at my company’s Secret Santa party last December. It was Patron Silver… and it was delicious. (Just to clarify: this is by no means the last time I’ve consumed tequila… just the last time I’ve had it in a non-margarita format.)

3. Charmin or Scott? Why?
Charmin all the way. Scott is uncomfortable and largely non-functional. I’ll put it this way: TheWife and I both work full-time, and have done so for many long years now. We work hard, we do our best to raise our awful children, we try to be good citizens… and, in return, we have certain expectations from society. And comfortable bathroom tissue is one of them. It’s a fundamental part of the social contract we have with the world, and it is non-negotiable.

4. What did you wear today?
A thong and a smile.

Alright, now that you’ve got that scarifying image burned into your forebrain, the real answer: a ratty old Timberland sweatshirt (dark blue) over a blue Gritty McDuff’s t-shirt, dirty blue jeans with a newly-discovered small hole in the knee, blue boxers with friendly, smiling white snowmen on them, white tube socks, and my spiffy new pair of gray ASICs sneaks.

And yes, that pretty well approximates what I wear to work most days.

5. What’s your favorite beer?
As I’m sure you guessed while asking this, this is actually not an easy question for me to answer. I’ve been a microbrew snob for a loooooong time now, and I’ve visited a lot of brewpubs and tried a lot of beers. That being said… crimony. I don’t know. It’s hard to go wrong with Dogfish Head’s Raison D’Etre Ale and I deeply and profoundly enjoyed the Sea Dog Blueberry Ale I had with lunch while sitting on a patio in the sun one day last week… but if I have to choose one, then I’m going to have to go with the Ommegang Abbey Ale. Bliss in a glass.

6. How would you feel if your daughters started dating at 15?
Violent.

7. Whom would you most like to get tattooed on your arm, assuming you are forced at gunpoint?
I’ll go with the Iron Giant. Can’t feel bad about that.

In which I respond to the relentless interrogation of Claire from Something Sarcastic:

1. What do you think of rainbows?
They’re definitely one of my favorite expressions of the refraction of sunlight through water vapor in the atmosphere. Easily Top 5, maybe even Top 3.

2. When did you last realize that you’re NOT, in fact, King of the World?
In a story at least one of you isn’t hearing for the first time, that would be on Friday night — when I was awakened at 1am by the moans of my son TheHurricane. I went into his room to check on him… at which point he sat up, looked at me, and abruptly drenched me in something like two gallons of Thai Beef Dynasty, Siam Rolls and chocolate milk. As TheWife has noted on more than one occasion, I am a vomit magnet.

3. Flying monkeys or vampire rabbits? Why?
Oh, vampire rabbits all the way. Not even close. Flying monkeys are for losers.

4. What did you do to that guy that said that thing?
Gutted him like a fish. Wait… are we talking about the same guy?

5. What’s your favorite kind of cheese?
Excellent question. I’m tempted by many members of the cheese family (and the cheez family, for that matter… I have a deep-set weakness for Port Wine Cheddar spread), and while I’d be hard-pressed to say no to an extra-sharp Vermont cheddar or a wedge of Gloucester… if I had to choose one it’d be a nice Italian Fontina. Mmm. And now I’m drooling on my keyboard.

6. How would you get red wine out of the carpet?
I find that the salt from my tears at having spilled some velvety red is often enough to remove some of the stain — emotional, if not physical.

7. Whom would you most like to see publicly flogged?
Right now, I’d have to go with Arlen Specter. Jackass.

In response to the queries of Karen from Verbatim:

1. What do you think of sushi?
I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m not a seafood guy. That being said, I think that sushi – or bait, as it’s known in English – is a valuable tool for catching other fish.

2. When did you last have too much to drink?
Easy — back in March, when my friend Koko took me out to see Bob Mould and fed me so many Sam Adams that I almost drowned. (Although I’m probably blocking out at least one 3+ margarita lunch that happened between then and now.)

3. Print newspaper or online? Why?
Both. I grew up reading The Boston Globe every day, and have been a 7-day subscriber to the local paper of record ever since I graduated from college and became a productive (except for days when I enjoy a 3+ margarita lunch) member of society. At the same time, however, my daily schedule is a lot more complicated these days than it used to be (ah, the joys of children) — and in all honesty, I probably only get to actually sit down and read the paper twice a week now. Subsequently, Boston.com is my home page at work, and I probably check it at least a half-dozen times a day.

4. What did you have for dinner last night?
TheWife cooked me a feast! It was a banner evening in Castle TwoBusy: Pecan Chicken with mixed vegetables over jasmine rice, washed down with a rare (for our house) Chardonnay. Good times.

5. What’s your favorite CD that people would be surprised to learn that you like?
Surprised? I’m not sure. As you can tell by my CD reviews (to the right) and obnoxious predilection for music memes, I listen to a lot of music — and my tastes are pretty esoteric. Some people might be surprised by my recent foray into ambient doom metal… others by my not-unrelated and also recent jonesing for riff-heavy 70s rock (my kids have been subjected to a fair amount of old-school Black Sabbath in my car in recent weeks, and now refer to Iron Man as “the angry song”)… and other others by my longstanding appreciation for some good, old-fashioned Renaissance music. I dunno. I guess the easy answer would be the first album by A Flock of Seagulls – which is easy to make fun of, but also a pretty decent album when it’s all said and done – but I’m pretty tough to pigeonhole as a music fan.

6. How would you describe your singing voice?
In my better moments – like, when shower’s running strong with hot water and I’m feeling extra-soulful – I can pull off a half-decent Mark Eitzel or Paul Buchanan… let’s just say I’ve had a lot of practice doing the melancholy voice thing. By and large, though, I think you’d be much better off thinking of my voice as something akin to the sound of a coyote caught in a bear trap, only slightly off-key and with less range.

7. Whom would you most like to see on the Dem. ticket in November (including VP)?
First off, I think this is a perfect opportunity to let everyone know that the use of “whom” in this question is strictly a Karen thing. Please join me in giving the grammar nerd a big hand. Now, to answer your question… I’ll have to go with Obama and… uh… I’m drawing a blank. Hillary? I don’t know. She’s become a much better candidate recently – after spending her first year campaigning as a strident, prepackaged autocrat, she’s found her comfort zone just when it became too late to matter – but I fear she’s still too divisive a figure on a national level to win an election. How ’bout we go for someone older and more seasoned in matters of economics and foreign policy? What’s Bill Bradley doing these days?

Since I suck too much to come up with anything interesting on my own, I’ve allowed myself to be browbeaten into the following exercise in memeitude by Karen from Verbatim. The deal: Below you see seven partial questions. In the comments, you get to fill in the blanks with whatever floats your boat… and then I gots to answer.

In retrospect, this will all probably seem like a terrible mistake.

Onward:

1. What do you think of ________?

2. When did you last ________?

3. ________ or ________? Why?

4. What did you ________?

5. What’s your favorite ________?

6. How would you ________?

7. Whom would you most like to ________?

The parking lot of doom claimed another victim about 20 minutes ago. Astonishingly enough, while this feat of driving prowess was accomplished by one of my building’s many paralegals… it wasn’t even the same paralegal who backed into me last December.

(To answer your question: Yes, my entire office stood at my window and waved a happy “Good job!’ to her after we heard the crash and came running over to look.)

Two of the friends I visited down in DC the other weekend were Mr and MrsAngus, who recently discovered that sometime this fall they would be supplementing their 2ish BabyAngus with – take a deep breath – twins.

As several of you know, I’ve long felt that it’s not just my divine right but, in fact, my obligation to greet the news of “I’ve been knocked up/I knocked my wife up!” with a response of “Congratulations! I hereby curse you with twins.” But this is the first time it’s ever worked. And I have to admit: I spent almost our entire time together cackling evilly at the Anguses. (Which I’m now realizing, as a pseudonym, makes them sound like beef. Oh, well. Good thing they’re not vegetarians.)

They kept asking me the nervous questions of expectant parents: How big did TheWife get before she delivered? (Answer: Pretty fuckin’ huge, dude.) How long did it take her to recover? (Answer: I’ll let you know when it happens.) How did you get sleep? (Answer: We slept in shifts, except that I decided that I was expendable and TheWife wasn’t, so I basically spent the first several months living – and working full-time – on about 2 hours of sleep a night. By the end, my coworkers were taking bets on when I would fall over and die. (That’s not a joke, btw.)) How screwed are we? (Answer: Pretty screwed. Congratulations!)

All of which sent me to my iPhoto archives after I returned home. TheWife wandered in, and together we looked through shots of her during her pregnancy, and marveled at how we’d forgotten that once she was a subcontinent. We poured through volumes of twinfant shots, and I was forced to admit – when looking at them as newborns – that I could no longer tell, at that stage, which was which. (Which is no different from the way it was at the time. Thank god for hospital bracelets, is all I can say.) We looked at lots of pictures of a very young Rabbit screaming, and recalled how for at least the first nine months we could only describe her personality as “pretty pissed off.” We reminisced, realized just how much of a horrifying blur that first year was, and savored what terrific little girls the twins have since become. And we talked about all that our dear friends the Anguses would experience in the years to come.

At the end, sitting there in the dark, bathed in the soft electric glow of the computer screen, we shared a special moment in which our eyes met – full of love, and shared experience, and understanding – and said as one: “Thank god it’s not us.”

Graphic design is an art form. And sometimes, it goes terribly, terribly wrong.

(The full story is here, in case you’re curious.)

TheWife turned 30something earlier this week. We celebrated with a festival of steak and red wine – as is her inclination – as well as a shower of modest gifts, including a couple of recommendations from imaginary friends (who’d better be right if they know what’s good for them).

Anyhow. In recognition of her advancing years… I present 30something reasons to rejoice in TheWife.

1. I don’t have a single male friend who doesn’t think that I married up.

2. She is totally The Man at her job.

3. Two weeks ago, I had to explain to her what a MILF is.

4. She enjoys watching The Biggest Loser while eating ice cream. (The irony makes the coffee almond fudge that much sweeter, apparently.)

5. When she was a child, her parents used to pull her out of school to go mining. Seriously.

6. Her first name doesn’t fit her at all. It’s an antiquated name — the kind you’d associate with a great aunt or a lunch lady.

7. Which means that when people hear her name, they have a mental image that’s completely blown out of the water the first time they meet her.

8. Which is what happened to me.

9. Want to reduce her to helpless tears? Show her somebody walking into a plate glass door, or unexpectedly tripping over their own feet. She’s a sucker for slapstick.

10. She has an unerring gift in that she always gravitates toward the most expensive item in any store. It doesn’t matter if no prices are posted — she’ll find and declare lovely the subtle crown jewel of their wares. She says it’s an indication of good taste; I prefer to think that she’s possessed by malevolent spirits.

11. When she planned our wedding – and make no mistake, she planned just about all of it herself – she decided that dancing wasn’t important. Hence: we had a string quartet. Which turned our reception into less of a goofy party and more into a low-key, enjoyable afternoon with friends and family. And blueberry beer.

12. The first time I told her I loved her, it was because I misheard something she said and mistakenly thought she’d just said that she loved me. (Oops.)

13. Fortunately, it turned out that she did.

14. We got engaged on top of a mountain. We hiked up, and after we summited we spent a few minutes looking out over the forest and water. Then I told her that I’d brought along a little something special for her, and to grab it out of the front pocket of my backpack. She reached in and pulled out a plastic baggie. “Gummy bears! Good call,” she said. “Uh… that’s not what I meant. Try again.” She so reached in again, and this time pulled out a small box. Which had a ring inside.

15. She doesn’t mind that I refer to this as “the time I propositioned her.”

16. Back in olden times – before TheWife was even TheGirlfriend – I dragged a friend (in fact, one of the friends I’ll be seeing in DC this weekend) to enjoy her flautist skillz in action. My friend and I spent the entire concert talking about TheGirlWhoWouldBecomeTheGirlfriend and strategies that I might enact to land her like a marlin. After the concert, she made her way back into the audience, and I got all excited thinking she was coming to see me. Nope: it turned out the white-haired old dude who had been sitting in the row in front of us the entire time was… wait for it… her father.

Yup. I really am that smooth.

17. She’s really, honestly, truly excited that her big birthday gift is two sweet tickets to a Sox matinee game next month (as well as the accompanying day of hooky from work and lunch somewhere in the Back Bay). And I’m really, honestly, truly grateful that I’ve got a girl who’s capable of appreciating that.

18. You know how some women get all “I’m aglow with new life and overflowing with love” when pregnant? Not TheWife. She wasn’t miserable… she just didn’t enjoy the whole pregnancy thing. Which I can totally respect.

19. Speaking of which: she rocked her way through not one but two – count ’em, two – rounds of modified bedrest while knocked up. In (relative) good humor.

(Thank you, Netflix.)

20. . I married a brunette. Then she started getting kind of… stripey. Then she got blonde. Then she got really blonde. Then I reminded her that I married a brunette. Now, a year and a half later, she’s back in (brownish) black.

21. When we decided to move to west coast, she wanted to move to San Francisco; I wanted Seattle or Portland.

She won.

22. When, four years later, I wanted to move back to Boston… she let me win.

23. When we first moved to San Francisco – during the depths of the first Bush’s recession – I struggled to find work. I ended up temping for more than a year before I found a full-time job. She was never less than completely supportive.

24. This was somewhat facilitated by the fact that when we first moved to San Francisco, she – at age 24 – was given the opportunity to open a new SF office by her Boston employer, who very quickly recognized her superstar qualities. She spent a year alone in an office suite, handling clients and building business, and eventually planted a stake in the ground for what is now the huge SF office of a huge national communications agency.

25. She left for the corporate side a couple of years later. Where she continued to rise and rise. I honestly don’t understand half of what she’s talking about when she talks about her job… but it’s clear that she is terrifyingly good at it.

26. She looks great in a black dress.

27. She also looks great in a fleece vest and jeans. (Yes, we live in New England.)

28. She finds a sense of humor attractive.

29. She’s kind to children and small animals, whether they deserve it or not.

30. Of all the wedding gifts we received, I think her favorite came from my best man (whom I’m staying with in DC this weekend), who gave us 5th row tickets to a Jazz/Celtics game. Given that this was in ’99, that meant my best man’s gift was the opportunity for my wife to spend close to 3 hours ogling Karl Malone up close.

31. I still can’t believe she went out with me in the first place.

32. She looks prettier without makeup.

33. She sleeps with her head under her pillow.

34. Her car has a 6-CD changer, but she tends to focus on one thing that she loves — listening to it over and over and over again. Right now, she’s beating this into the ground.

35. I just realized that next week marks 15 years since we first starting being an “us.”

36. That first night involved a moonlit drive, a beautiful, placid lake, and the sudden appearance of a lot of dead fish.

37. I was a lucky bastard to be with her then. And I’m a lucky bastard to be with her now.