It’s that secret disease that no one ever talked about, but everyone knew about. Or, maybe they talked about it, around it, made reference to it, but they never said the malady’s name out loud, as if the mere mention of the word would conjure the contagion out of thin voldemortal air. Apparently, there’s no true cure for it because it’s a virus. You can remove a worm with surgery, you can kill bacteria with a full course of antibiotics, but there’s no cure for a virus. If you catch it, you won’t die, but the little virus will live like a parasite in your body for, like, ever and you just have to wait out any discomfort with the hope that your immuno-soldiers, armed with herbs, minerals, and a daily 1000mg arsenal of Emergen-C can fight it off.
I swear I think it was something that parents made up when were in junior high just to frighten us into celibacy.
And yet we threw all caution to the wind, slurping saliva left and right.
I believe the scientific name of it is…
I’ve caught a meme. *blush*
M-e-m-e. I’ll spell it for you, but I just can’t say “meme” out loud. No, I’m not afraid what having caught a meme might imply about my lifestyle – as if only certain types of dirty little bluts (that would be “blogging sluts” for those not down with the vernacular) end up with memes in their Inboxes. Loose. Licentious. Hey, I’m not shy about my shameless, unprotected blogging practices. Nelly Furtado’s Promiscuous Girl is my anthem. (Along with Ludacris’ Shake You Money Maker, but that’s another post.)
No, I can’t say “meme” out loud because I don’t know if it’s a monosyllabic “meem” or the emancipated “mimi.” I don’t want to sound like I don’t know. I have weird pride about pronunciation.
Thanks to some guy I’ve only met once (Jerk! He swore to me he was clean!), I’m supposed to reveal five things about myself that people might not know about me.
This is a dumb meme. It defeated itself before it even got started.
First of all, memes are for bloggers. In most cases, a blogger pretty openly exposes himself fully, frontally every day anyway. Oftentimes, the whole reason a blogger writes on a blog is for the express purpose of expressing himself and revealing revelations about himself that he wouldn’t otherwise divulge in real life. There isn’t much that the anonymous public doesn’t already know, or couldn’t know, about a blogger that can’t be found in The Archives. This “Five Things You Don’t Know” meme topic doesn’t work for bloggers. There really isn’t anything that people might not know. It might work, say, as an ice breaker theme at the Accounting department’s annual picnic. It doesn’t really apply to bloggers.
Second of all, even if there were five things that you might not know about a blogger, there’s probably a good reason that the blogger hasn’t already revealed those things, which is why you don’t know about them in the first place. It might be, you know, private. Why would the blogger reveal them now? Just because some ones and zeroes came coyly slip-sliding across the intertubes doesn’t mean the blogger is going to betray his own personal confidence and disclose a bunch of deeply personal unknown things.
Yes, I am done stalling now.
- I am Korean, and sometimes I hate that about myself. But not all the time. I often ridicule Koreans, and if you don’t read carefully enough you might just think that I was actually not Korean and that I just have some sort of ethno-racial bias. I do. I grew up in a very culturally and socially homogeneous area that was subconsciously prejudiced against anything “ethnic.” I know the prejudice was out of ignorance and not real animosity, but I think the manifestations had a lasting impact on me. It is slowly being undone in my head.
- I sleep with the lights on. Not a nightlight. Not a dimmer. The regular, full, light that blasts at 100 watts.
- I am not a very good cook. I am not shy about admitting that I am a terrible baker. However, when it comes down to it, I’m not that great at cooking either. Make no mistake. I love to cook, and I make a very earnest effort, but just because you love to play golf doesn’t mean you’re good at it. In the end, most of the things I cook are just *eh*.
- I used to run a lot. A lot; like 4-5 miles, five days a week. Then I realized that I didn’t actually like running and I didn’t care that much about my physical appearance to keep doing something that bored me to tears. So I switched to shopping. I’m in great shape.
- I am strangely attracted to powerful assholes. Don’t ask.
- I am not very good at counting. Five? I am Asian. You would think I would be a brilliant mathemetician, scientist, or engineer. None of the above. I know I said I pretty much killed the curve in college biology, but b
iology has nothing to do with numbers or formulas.
I don’t know most of the people in this little orgy of fun before me, but just to keep it interesting, this is how it has panned out so far: Jeff Pulver > Steve Garfield > Steve Woolf > Rick Rey > Michael Ambs > Amanda Congdon > Jason Calacanis > C.K. Sample > Ryan j Budke >Eliot > Delicious.
And now I’m heedlessly jumping into an orgy with another five bloggers, some of whom I don’t even really know, throwing all caution to the wind, without protection, just taking the risk and spreading the meme in the heated passion of the moment. In fact, why don’t we make one giant lovefest? If you have five things that we dont’ know about you, share in the comments. For you, you can even remain anonymous – consider it therapy.
What a promiscuous little blut I am!
** a year ago today, aroma cafe didn’t stink **