Here’s something I just ran across, and I’m feeling in a sharing sort of mood:

:x: name = Matthew, but many call me Matt
:x: Birthdate= GMT: 14/12/73; GMT-6:12/14/73
:x: piercing = left ear, but I think it’s all closed up now
:x: tattoos = no, but perhaps some day
:x: height= five-tennish9-9.5, depending on brand and style
:x: hair color= brownish
:x: siblings = one brother, Adam

LAST…
:x: movie you rented = via Netflix, it would be either Nosferatu the Vampyr (1979) and Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed, which came in together, or Don’t Look Now and Polyester, which are on their way
:x: movie you bought = the recent remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which turned out to be not nearly as dire as I’d expected
:x: song you listened to = (checks iPod) “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin” by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong
:x: song that was stuck in your head = can’t remember, actually; the iPod is great for clearing out earworms
:x: cd you bought = Wow. I don’t think I’ve bought anything since Rufus Wainwright’s Want Two.
:x: cd you listened to = The OCR of Assassins.
:x: person you’ve called = (checks phone) Dr. Nancy Pack, of the Tuscaloosa Public Library
:x: person that’s called you = (checks phone again) Michael Manasco
:x: tv show you’ve watched = Angel, the excellent Season 3 cliffhanger
:x: person you were thinking of = I honestly don’t recall.

DO…
:x: you have a crush on someone = No, I have crushes on several people.
:x: you wish you could live somewhere else = Yes, please!
:x: you believe in online dating = this is a term that cries out for definition.
:x: others find you attractive = not in the least.
:x: you want more piercings = perhaps, but they’d probably look silly
:x: you like cleaning = I like having cleaned, but not the cleaning itself.
:x: you like roller coasters = yup
:x: you write in cursive or print = in sort of a hybrid

FOR OR AGAINST…
:x: long distance relationships = I’m suspicious of them, personally.
:x: using someone = not generally to be recommended or approved of
:x: suicide = I support a person’s right to control his or her own body
:x: killing people = most definitely against
:x: teenage smoking = strongly against
:x: driving drunk = bad, bad, bad.
:x: gay/lesbian relationships = Yes, please.
:x: soap operas= considering that Claremont’s run on X-Men was a four-color soap with mutant abilities, I’m going to have to come out strongly for.

HAVE YOU…
:x: ever cried over a girl = Not that I recall
:x: ever cried over a boy = Um. Yes? I’m not proud.
:x: ever lied to someone = Indeed.
:x: ever been in a fist fight = Nope.
:x: ever been arrested = Nuh-uh.

WHAT…
:x: shampoo do you use = I actually use a nice minty soap from Bath and Body Shop.
:x: shoes do you wear = Old ones. I need new shoes.
:x: are you scared of = Dying alone in my sleep and not having my remains discovered for, like, three weeks. Also, pointy or jabby things in my eyeball. Oh! And destitution!

NUMBER…
:x: of times I have been in love? = Unsure.
:x: of times I have had my heart broken? = At least once.
:x: of hearts I have broken? = None that I can imagine.
:x: of girls I’ve slept with? = 0.
:x: of girls I’ve kissed? = Like, really *kissed* kissed? Just the one, I think.
:x: of guys I’ve kissed?= Painfully few.
:x: of guys you’ve obsessed over who wouldn’t date you = Let’s not even go there.
:x: of scars on my body? = I don’t think I have any visible ones any more.
:x: of things in my past that I regret? = Yeesh. I can’t count that high.
:x: of guys that have seen you naked? = Not enough.
:x: number of girls that have seen you naked?= Other than my mom? None that I know of.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE…
:x: pretty – Oh, dear god, no.
:x: funny - I have occassionally caused polite laughter.
:x: hot – Sweet mama jama, no.
:x: friendly - People seem to think I am.
:x: amusing - How does this differ from “funny”?
:x: ugly – Oh yeah, plenty ugly.
:x: loveable – Not particularly, no.
:x: caring- I think so, yes.
:x: sweet – Mayyyybe.
:x: dorky – I’m posting answers to a list of personal questions on my blog.

The delightful Ms. C., when profiling me with the questions in the prior post, said she’d always wanted to know who my type is, romantically. I’ve spent some time over the last few days trying to think up a good summary, and I think I’ve got it.

The kind of guy who pushes my Romance-O-Meter into the red is (and I think I’m stealing this wording from Zero) the Little Boy Lost. He’s the guy at the party who looks like he’s just woken up in the middle of Grand Central Station during rush hour, puzzled and a little frightened and totally unsure how he got there or how to get back.

He’ll stand by the snacks table, avoiding eye contact but hoping somebody will come up and talk to him but knowing they probably won’t because he, you know, spends the evening standing by the snacks table avoiding eye contact. It’s not that he’s antisocial, it’s more that he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

Underneath the shyness and painful self-consciousness he’s kind and witty and more than a little bit dopey. Once he’s in his comfort zone, he’s bright-eyed and enthusiastic in conversation.

You know the type I’m talking about, right? He’s passionate about many things, but they’re the kind of things that other people look askance at being passionate about so he mostly keeps to himself until he realizes he’s found a fellow traveller.

And that is, romantically speaking, my type. Think Xander and you’ve just about got it.

Got this from the lovely and talented Rachel, and now I open it to you:

01. Reply with your name and I will write something I like about you.
02. I will then tell what song/movie/icon reminds me of you.
03. If I were to apply an o’clock to you, I’ll tell you what it would be.
04. I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
05. I’ll tell you the most memorable moment I’ve had with you.
06. I will tell you what animal you remind me of.
07. I’ll then tell you something that I’ve always wondered about you.

Come one, come all, and I promise I won’t be as tardy in replying as I normally am.

Read the Harper’s article “Soldiers of Christ” by Jeff Sharlett, a piece on the nerve center of the most powerful social movement in the US today. Then shudder, and rage, and fear.

I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that the end of the Enlightenment has been brought about by mideivalism proud and triumphant (they fucking believe in demons as absolutely non-metaphorical parasites causing such ungodly abominations as homosexuality and good Indian food), but it kind of is.

In processing my first cart of books earlier in the week, I ran across a volume I simply must have as my own. I even went so far as to write a note to myself of title and author, an act of non-laziness so uncharacteristic that I feared I might shake the stars from their appointed courses in my effort.

I finally got around to looking up the magnificent book, SIN-A-RAMA: Sleaze Sex Paperbacks of the Sixties, Brittany A. Daley editor, and happened to notice the three items listed beneath in the “Customers who bought this also bought” were thinks I also desparately wanted.

(They’re not there now, perhaps because I added two of them to my Wish List as a reminder; they were the latest volume in Fantagraphics’ collection of all Peanuts dailies, a David Cross album, and a reader’s guide to Infinite Jest.)

I feel so wonderfully, interconnectedly non-unique now! There are other people with brains like mine, which knowledge comes as a tremendous relief.

I’d always heard how good an ice cold beer is when one is both parched and hot, but somehow I’d never actually given it a go. Frankly, I’d always been a bit suspicious; while I like beers well enough, “refereshing” is something I would never have associated with the stuff.

But when I came in from a long day of liquid-free work and a rather warm walk home and found that I’d forgotten to take my lemonade pitcher out of the freezer last night, I found myself with nothing to drink but tepid tap water (I don’t trust my ice cubes) or cold beer. Needing to cool down more than I needed to rehydrate, I decided to give the brew a go.

I popped open a Rolling Rock (a typically mild-flavored American lager somewhat justified by its crispness), tilted the bottle back into my mouth, and damn if that first gulp wasn’t the most amazingly refreshing thing I’d ever tasted. My taste buds popped to attention and started singing hosannas, the dried plaster caking the back of my throat washed away, and just generally my entire mouth and GI tract (well, maybe not the entire GI tract) issued my brain a hearty, amazed, dewy-eyed “thank you”.

Of course, after that first gulp it’s just another mild-flavored American lager. I suppose one must expect disappointment after such an experience, but still.

Oh, and Catherine will be getting emails within the next 72 hours, promise. And I’m researching for Angela, and do please keep those questions coming.

I made it all the way through work today without once breaking skin. Not even a nick!

Either the Library Gods are propitiated, or they are very angry indeed. Tomorrow shall likely tell.

In other news…hmph. I seem to have no other news. Boo me.

Any questions from the audience?

So far, what I mostly do is what I mostly expected: I rubberstamp books with the names of the library system and of the individual library in which the book will reside (unless the book is going to the education library, in which there are further arcane subdivisions to deal with); I insert security strips, the little pieces of metal that make the sensor whoop if someone tries to sneak something out; I type up call-number labels and affix them to the appropriate spines; and I discreetly initial the title page of each book I process.

Basically, I’m paid to sit around and systematically deface books all day. It’s neat.

One task I wasn’t expecting, actually, is the Daily Giving of Blood. It’s not spelled out in the training manual, and no one has explicitly mentioned it, but it’s been consistent enough so far that it appears to be part of the job. Yesterday, for example, I slice a finger open while removing the filing notes from a book; this morning, I gouged a nice chunk out of a thumb whilst helping Michael P. transport drawers of microfilm. It appears that the Library Gods will, one way or another, be appeased.

That’s when I start my summer job in cataloguing, which sort of just fell into my lap last week. I went out and bought new pants and everything.

This’ll be my first 8-5 gig since I was a runner for Lange, Simpson lo these many years ago, and frankly I’m a bit nervous about how I’m going to adapt to those long stretches of largely uninterrupted worktime.

It looks like I’ll start out mainly working on preparing books for shelves, not doing any actual cataloguing. I’ll be one of the guys who puts in safety strips, attaches call-number stickers to spines, and puts date-due slips in front covers. I’m not sure why we still put date-due slips in, actually, as I thought the days of stamping dates was long past. Perhaps the date gets stamped if a book is checked out by a human circulations clerk; as I always use the self-serve machine thingy, I’m not exactly sure.

If I’m a good boy, it’s possible I’ll be able to get involved in working with some of the ancient material stored in the basement, some of which has apparently been lingering for over a century without ever being catalogued. If I’m not a good boy, or if I’m a very unlucky boy, I’ll get shuffled over to the Endless Microfilm Project. Shudder.

More as events develop, I’m sure.

Else I’d have boiled my sinuses well and good when I read Stefan Jones’s comment on Revenge of the Sith in a thread over at Making Light:

Worse, it was _no fun_. It was as much fun as watching steam locomotives crash into each other. Normally, that might be entertaining, but not when the cabs of the locomotives are full of kittens and orphans.

Tee! Hee! (Of course, this doesn’t mean I won’t see the movie, but I consider myself forewarned.)