Jan 25 2008
in pursuit of perfection
In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t been that great at updating the ol’ blog lately. So I’m stealing this meme from Tiff. You may in turn steal it from me if you like, because that is one of the reasons why the internets are so great.
And here it is. Prepare to be fascinated:
The perfect outfit: Jeans, warm sweater, no shoes. Unless I have to go outside, and then shoes are probably a good idea.
The perfect meal: Fresh warm biscuits with butter and honey. Everything else is optional.
The perfect hangover cure: Apparently it’s Little Debbie Zebra Cakes and green Gatorade. It really does work. I’ve tried it. But I am more likely to go for drinking ridiculous amounts of ice water, taking a hot shower, then going back to bed.
The perfect road trip: I think the route/destination is secondary to good company and good music, but I always wanted to head out to big sky country, like Montana, and just drive and drive.
The perfect facial feature: Eyes full of mischief.
The perfect drink: Good bourbon, neat.
The perfect song: “Porchlight” by Neko Case. Or maybe Ray Charles singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”
The perfect sign of affection: A steady hand at the small of my back (This is Tiff’s answer, but… yes.)
The perfect afternoon: The weather is warm, I’m barefoot in cool grass, the sky is blue, so blue, I have a book, I fall asleep.
The perfect vacation: My working theory is that it’s Cinque Terre, Italy.
The perfect invention: Velcro. Just think about it.
The perfect type of wedding: Small and completely un-fussy.
The perfect album: I still haven’t found anything that actually tops Radiohead’s OK Computer, even though I don’t really listen to it anymore, I still know how ridiculously good it is.
The perfect accent: I really like those of the eastern European variety. Hot.
The perfect date: Easy conversation, easy laughter, walking. It’s very important to walk with someone you date. It can tell you a lot.
The perfect weather: 70 degrees and sunny.
The perfect party: I don’t really like parties because large groups make me anxious, so I have to say that the perfect party to me is the kind where I sneak out with one or two friends with some beer and find an obliging rooftop or driveway or lawn and sit and talk.
The perfect sport: Soccer.
The perfect thing to say: When said just right, it is, unquestionably, “Damn.”
The perfect day of the week: Sunday.
Well, yes. However, Kid A is better. Everything in it’s right place, Jamelah.
wifey, i believe you misspoke.
the perfect wedding is actually one that occurs inside an english studies classroom at a small, liberal arts college and is officiated by a very tinly english professor and witnessed by between 8 and 12 strangers.
ro-man-tic.
and lasting.
though i suppose it was also, in fact, small and un-fussy.
Nice. Although I have to say that Sunday cannot be the perfect day of the week. You see, if it’s Sunday that means you have to go to work the next day, and knowing that you have to go to work the next day makes it un-perfect. Therefore, I propose that Saturday is the best day of the week.
(I don’t know why I have thought about this so much and then felt compelled to tell you that you’re WRONG about the perfect day of the week, but for some reason I did. My apologies.)
Sir — But in context of Radiohead discography, OK Computer is not only perfect, but it’s pretty much a watershed. Wow, I’m pretentious. But it’s like, Pablo Honey, yeah, okay. The Bends hints at what’s to come, and then OK Computer is like, “What the hell? Are you kidding? My brain hurts and I want to jump off a bridge, but I mean that in a good way. I think.” And then Radiohead just kept Radioheading. Yeah.
Wife — It was indeed small and un-fussy. Though I sort of wish we got snacks or something.
Mindy — I thought about it a long time too, actually, and my reasoning was that Saturday is the day I usually spend trying to do the things I don’t have time for during the workweek, but Sunday is just whatever, because it’s Sunday and if I’m going to have a weekend, this is it.