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Sep. 21st, 2004 12:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
benchiladaOkay, so my friend Libby asked the whole "Five Questions" thing that was started a while back.
I subsequently took forever to answer.
The basic concept is that somebody asks you whatever five questions they want, and you answer them.
So Libby says:
"Ok, I have to put a disclaimer on Ben's because I have to admit that I'm a little intimidated about asking Ben questions. You are, undoubtedly, someone who could come up with the top 5 ultimate questions of the universe. However, I have no doubt that regardless of what I end up asking, you will have the top 5 ultimate answers of the universe provided :-)"
No fucking pressure or anything. I *can* be serious, you know. I prefer not to be, but it has happened. Right...
"1. How and when did you know that Sarah was the one for you?
When I realized her name didn't end with H.
Or maybe when, for our first "date," she said yes when I asked if she wanted to go see "Brain Candy" with me.
Or when we were sitting in my dorm room, and the end credits to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory were rolling and I told her I'd very much like to kiss her, and she smiled in a way that burned into my heart forever. Maybe the first time I realized my heart would NEVER stop beating faster every time I saw her. Perhaps when I realized that when the smiling girl with the hat complimented me, I almost believed her. She puts up with Giant Robots, comic books, crazy movies, Tourette's, my Alzheimer's-like memory, and all of the madness in my head, and smiles and tells me that she loves me. And then I know that I love her the same fucking enormous, metric-shit-ton amount.
And a bit more.
2. Would you rather be a just person who is viewed as unjust, or an unjust person who is seen as just?
Christ that's easy. A just person who is viewed as unjust. I take take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I can handle being hated and feared by a world I've sworn to protect, I could deal with being trapped in a world I never made, and, hell, I could handle everybody thinking I'm a Republican.
But to be a Bastard? I mean, really truly be an utter dickhole, albeit one that everybody sees as a Saint?
I'd rather rip my intestines out my asshole and swing upside down from them.
3. If you had enough money to provide all of your friends with one book and one movie, what would you pick to give?
Okay, so I get it, it's all Hard Question, Easy Question, rinse, repeat, eh? Fuckery fuck-fuck. That reminds me, completely unrelated, I've decided that my Honorary Scottish Name is Angus McAngus-Angus. Now...one fucking book and one fucking movie? Do you realize that I have THREE eight-foot-by-two-and-a-half-foot bookshelves FULL of the bastards and STILL have...let me count...about 17 more two-foot piles of 'em? And that I have a bookshelf full of VHS in the office closet and three folders full of DVD's in the living room? BLEARGH!!!
Okay, fine.
*deep breath*
Ooh. Found the loophole. I can *provide* one book and one movie to each of my friends, but force them at gunpoint to read and watch a myriad of others. So I'll just go with the one of each, and if you want to know about more, reply here.
BOOK: I'll skip ones like HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES, and FAHRENHEIT 451, and DEATH IS A LONELY BUSINESS, and THE BIG SLEEP, and LIZARD MUSIC, and THE CRYING OF LOT 49, and go straight to...
KITCHEN, by Banana Yoshimoto.
It's really two novellas, but who gives a shit.
It's very rare to find a new way of writing, you know? It's like finding a new kind of music, like when I first heard the first Sigur Ros album, from start to finish, and was pretty much in tears at the end because I didn't know how I'd lived without those sounds.
That's what KITCHEN did to me. I couldn't stop reading it. I read it again. I could SEE EVERYTHING in the book, I was THERE, it was BEAUTIFUL and SAD and CRAZY and HAPPY and it just grabbed me by the heart and squeezed and said, "Listen, you crazy fucker, this, THIS is how life can be. For you. For everybody. Find it."
Okay, now movie? I'll skip BEING THERE and THE PRINCESS BRIDE and THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS and THE KILLER and I'VE HEARD THE MERMAIDS SINGING and ZATOICHI and HAPPINESS OF THE KATAKURIS and so on.
I'll *even* skip HAROLD AND MAUDE, which *should* be my answer.
Instead...
No, fuck it, you get HAROLD AND MAUDE. I don't CARE if you've seen it, even a dozen times, you take the time, and you sit down, and you watch this flick with your HEART this time. You LAUGH and you CRY and you CHEER and you *listen to it*. You hear HOW LIFE SHOULD BE. Like KITCHEN, wot? It's all there. Find it. You're all there. Find yourself. Sure, I sound cliched as all fuck right now, but they're my answers, fuggoff.
"A sunflower? I suppose you think this is very funny, Harold..."
4. Who is the greatest kung-fu master of all time?
Shit, girl. That's like asking which orgasm I liked the best, and then remembering the exact date and time.
People I've seen in movies? Like Jet Li and Yuen Biao and Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan and the Yuen bros., and Sonny Chiba, and so on?
Dunno.
Real life? I haven't met them all, but I'll give you a tie:
Master Song, who lives here in Champaign-Urbana, has taught for years, he's from Korea. Strict, but one of the nicest men I've ever met in my life. And he practices traditional medicine and acupuncture. And he could kill every one of you reading this, while reading it himself.
Second? Me, after seeing any kung-fu/chambara/sword-and-sorcery/bullet ballet movie. Don't fuck with me after I'm jacked up on that shit like a No-Shadow speedball. I don't care who you are, you better get on the fucking bus, cause I'm TAKING YOUR ASS TO SCHOOL! Damn, but I want to fight crime like NOBODY'S business...
5. What is the universe trying to tell you right now?
odd, but it's trying to tell me to laugh and to cry at the same time. It's just this feeling I get sometimes. I'm gonna go put on "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues and then "Trouble" by Cat Stevens and then "Rainbow Connection" by The Muppets and get myself something to DRINK drink. And not smoke a fucking cigarette.
Then I'm gonna laugh, and cry, and write, and probably fall asleep on the couch or at the keyboard. But, goddamnit, I'm gonna do it all like I fucking mean it.
If you REALLY *must* have me ask you five questions, post a reply asking politely. Or rudely.
I may or may not ask them, on account of my being brutally retarded about remembering to do things, like sleep, or eat.
Things to do, my monkeys...
I subsequently took forever to answer.
The basic concept is that somebody asks you whatever five questions they want, and you answer them.
So Libby says:
"Ok, I have to put a disclaimer on Ben's because I have to admit that I'm a little intimidated about asking Ben questions. You are, undoubtedly, someone who could come up with the top 5 ultimate questions of the universe. However, I have no doubt that regardless of what I end up asking, you will have the top 5 ultimate answers of the universe provided :-)"
No fucking pressure or anything. I *can* be serious, you know. I prefer not to be, but it has happened. Right...
"1. How and when did you know that Sarah was the one for you?
When I realized her name didn't end with H.
Or maybe when, for our first "date," she said yes when I asked if she wanted to go see "Brain Candy" with me.
Or when we were sitting in my dorm room, and the end credits to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory were rolling and I told her I'd very much like to kiss her, and she smiled in a way that burned into my heart forever. Maybe the first time I realized my heart would NEVER stop beating faster every time I saw her. Perhaps when I realized that when the smiling girl with the hat complimented me, I almost believed her. She puts up with Giant Robots, comic books, crazy movies, Tourette's, my Alzheimer's-like memory, and all of the madness in my head, and smiles and tells me that she loves me. And then I know that I love her the same fucking enormous, metric-shit-ton amount.
And a bit more.
2. Would you rather be a just person who is viewed as unjust, or an unjust person who is seen as just?
Christ that's easy. A just person who is viewed as unjust. I take take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I can handle being hated and feared by a world I've sworn to protect, I could deal with being trapped in a world I never made, and, hell, I could handle everybody thinking I'm a Republican.
But to be a Bastard? I mean, really truly be an utter dickhole, albeit one that everybody sees as a Saint?
I'd rather rip my intestines out my asshole and swing upside down from them.
3. If you had enough money to provide all of your friends with one book and one movie, what would you pick to give?
Okay, so I get it, it's all Hard Question, Easy Question, rinse, repeat, eh? Fuckery fuck-fuck. That reminds me, completely unrelated, I've decided that my Honorary Scottish Name is Angus McAngus-Angus. Now...one fucking book and one fucking movie? Do you realize that I have THREE eight-foot-by-two-and-a-half-foot bookshelves FULL of the bastards and STILL have...let me count...about 17 more two-foot piles of 'em? And that I have a bookshelf full of VHS in the office closet and three folders full of DVD's in the living room? BLEARGH!!!
Okay, fine.
*deep breath*
Ooh. Found the loophole. I can *provide* one book and one movie to each of my friends, but force them at gunpoint to read and watch a myriad of others. So I'll just go with the one of each, and if you want to know about more, reply here.
BOOK: I'll skip ones like HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES, and FAHRENHEIT 451, and DEATH IS A LONELY BUSINESS, and THE BIG SLEEP, and LIZARD MUSIC, and THE CRYING OF LOT 49, and go straight to...
KITCHEN, by Banana Yoshimoto.
It's really two novellas, but who gives a shit.
It's very rare to find a new way of writing, you know? It's like finding a new kind of music, like when I first heard the first Sigur Ros album, from start to finish, and was pretty much in tears at the end because I didn't know how I'd lived without those sounds.
That's what KITCHEN did to me. I couldn't stop reading it. I read it again. I could SEE EVERYTHING in the book, I was THERE, it was BEAUTIFUL and SAD and CRAZY and HAPPY and it just grabbed me by the heart and squeezed and said, "Listen, you crazy fucker, this, THIS is how life can be. For you. For everybody. Find it."
Okay, now movie? I'll skip BEING THERE and THE PRINCESS BRIDE and THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS and THE KILLER and I'VE HEARD THE MERMAIDS SINGING and ZATOICHI and HAPPINESS OF THE KATAKURIS and so on.
I'll *even* skip HAROLD AND MAUDE, which *should* be my answer.
Instead...
No, fuck it, you get HAROLD AND MAUDE. I don't CARE if you've seen it, even a dozen times, you take the time, and you sit down, and you watch this flick with your HEART this time. You LAUGH and you CRY and you CHEER and you *listen to it*. You hear HOW LIFE SHOULD BE. Like KITCHEN, wot? It's all there. Find it. You're all there. Find yourself. Sure, I sound cliched as all fuck right now, but they're my answers, fuggoff.
"A sunflower? I suppose you think this is very funny, Harold..."
4. Who is the greatest kung-fu master of all time?
Shit, girl. That's like asking which orgasm I liked the best, and then remembering the exact date and time.
People I've seen in movies? Like Jet Li and Yuen Biao and Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan and the Yuen bros., and Sonny Chiba, and so on?
Dunno.
Real life? I haven't met them all, but I'll give you a tie:
Master Song, who lives here in Champaign-Urbana, has taught for years, he's from Korea. Strict, but one of the nicest men I've ever met in my life. And he practices traditional medicine and acupuncture. And he could kill every one of you reading this, while reading it himself.
Second? Me, after seeing any kung-fu/chambara/sword-and-sorcery/bullet ballet movie. Don't fuck with me after I'm jacked up on that shit like a No-Shadow speedball. I don't care who you are, you better get on the fucking bus, cause I'm TAKING YOUR ASS TO SCHOOL! Damn, but I want to fight crime like NOBODY'S business...
5. What is the universe trying to tell you right now?
odd, but it's trying to tell me to laugh and to cry at the same time. It's just this feeling I get sometimes. I'm gonna go put on "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues and then "Trouble" by Cat Stevens and then "Rainbow Connection" by The Muppets and get myself something to DRINK drink. And not smoke a fucking cigarette.
Then I'm gonna laugh, and cry, and write, and probably fall asleep on the couch or at the keyboard. But, goddamnit, I'm gonna do it all like I fucking mean it.
If you REALLY *must* have me ask you five questions, post a reply asking politely. Or rudely.
I may or may not ask them, on account of my being brutally retarded about remembering to do things, like sleep, or eat.
Things to do, my monkeys...
