There is a social experiment spreading rampantly on Facebook. Instead of the tired "answer these 25 mundane questions about your favorite color, book, etc. that nobody cares about," the challenge is simply to post "25 Random Things" about yourself.

It has been so intriguing to find out what people think of when they are encouraged to pick any 25 points of data about themselves. Sometimes, you get things like, "I like blue." Other times you get things like, "since my wife died, I've been more empathetic to others' suffering," and sometimes it's things like "I don't have a particular side of the bed. Every night I pick a random side, my husband sleeps on the other." I love this experiment; they could pick ANYTHING, and it says a lot what each person chooses.

So, with that, here are the 25 things I posted. I encourage you to try it... on your blog, on Facebook, on your locker, on your mirror at home...it's worth the 15 minutes to find out what comes to the top of your own mind when given free reign to pick 25 facts about yourself.



25 Random Things

1. I have no recollection of ever using Chap-Stik, or any derivations of lip balm thereof. It's gross, and you're just going to have to get over that.
2. I am not a real germaphobe. I am a selective germaphobe, choosing to focus only on bodily fluids (i.e. - no concern for dirt, outdoor germs, rotten food, etc.), and completely lose my germaphobia when in a state of total comfort. If I were a shrink, I'd bet it's a control thing.
3. I learned to play the bass at age 12 because my older brother had already become a shreddin' guitar player, and I thought playing only on 4 strings would make me better faster. I'm now playing guitar in his band. Well, the best laid plans...
4. I got an English degree largely by accident. I kept taking English courses, and my Comm advisor mentioned that if I take 1 more I'd have a degree. So, Avant Garde Lit, here I come!
5. I have an intense fear of being snuck up on. (Don't even think about it; I'll freak and punch your throat or something).
6. I'm learning to hug. (It has heretofore been more of an academic activity than an experiential one). [Thanks, Alison]
7. I'm smack dab in the middle of a major spiritual quest, and discovering I have far more questions than answers. Almost no answers, really. Lots of questions. It's both a cold and luminous place to be.
8. I cried through most of my brother's wedding. And my other brother's. And mine. Shut up.
9. I was the Prom King and Homecoming Prince my senior year, and both as a result of what I'm fairly sure was a cruel joke by the popular kids.
10. Despite years of acting lessons, dialectic practice, and an intense desire to be cool, I am entirely incapable of using slang in any kind of believable way. (I had my license to use slang revoked by a jazz drummer once... which is like having your license to drive revoked by Dale Earnhardt).
11. I read three books at a time: one fiction, one non-fiction, one philosophical/spiritual. And all of them very slowly.
12. I love mushy, lumpy food. Mashed potatoes, chicken pot pie, shepherd's pie, biscuits and gravy, chicken w dumplings... if my meal can be mushed into a big steaming amalgam of goo, it's right for me.
13. My worst job was as an overnight radio announcer and board operator on a traditional jazz station. I worked midnight - 8:00, two days a week, and was on the air for ONE MINUTE every hour doing traffic and weather...and there was a CCTV camera to make sure you didn't sleep inbetween. (But I did learn to love jazz, and to love the station).
14. My best job ever is the one I have now, and I feel tremendously lucky about that.
15. To borrow a line from Ben Doepke, music trumps almost anything. It is the truest language of the holy.
16. I have a deep and abiding love for Eminem's music. (Which is only enhanced when it's flanked by Edgar Meyer and Parliament on my iPod's shuffle).
17. I'm insecure about most things. If I'm coming off arrogant or condescending, it's because I probably worry you're better than I am.
18. I collect 2-5 new cigars a week, and smoke one or less a week. So... the collection keeps growing... and I'm running out space.
19. Despite being around it in the music scene for the last 15 years, I've never smoked pot. I really want to give it a shot, but I want to do it up right... save the experience for a really decent atmosphere and moment in time. Anybody got any suggestions?
20. Self-disclosure gives me the willies. This gives me the willies. I have the willies. I'm wondering if I'll ever publish it.
21. I once got to meet my musical hero, Bela Fleck, and the only thing I could think of to say to him was, "do you like pie?" Then I got embarrassed and walked away. We haven't spoken since.
22. My favorite drink is a Knob Creek, on the rocks, with a splash to open it up. My favorite beer is Guinness, in a glass, followed by another.
23. I come from 5 generations of Irish firefighters. My brothers and I blew it for everybody by becoming a doctor, a lawyer, and whatever the hell it is I do. (Fortunately, my cousin is keeping the tradition alive in NYC).
24. I dream of publishing a book some day. The problem is, I'm not sure about what, or written to whom. Again... anybody got any suggestions?
25. Growing up, my nickname was "fussy." I've never had a nickname since.

Peace to you,
Justin

[photo from by michael wilson]

I keep turning up the music to try and drown out the sadness.

I’m on a plane from Dallas back to Cincinnati, and I’ve got my headphones on. The good ones. The ones that surround your ear, block everything else out. They’re supposed to anyway. But I’ve been through Fiona, then Fallout Boy, then Metallica…pushing it louder and louder, trying to forget about it, because men on business don’t cry on planes.

I’m trying to stop thinking for a moment about my friend Katie who died this week, and mostly trying to stop imagining what it feels like to be her family right now.

It feels surreal, to tell you the truth. Like an abstract poem I don’t quite understand, but the more I study the words the less I like the shadows they keep casting.

God damn it.

She was so bright, so fun, so powerful, so sweet, and so unstoppably honest. She was brave as hell, too…from her career to her relationship with her partner to her motherhood to battle with this tumor…so brave. More brave than I’ve ever hoped to be.

She was articulate, kind, and creative. She had a singing voice that spelled sugar and push simultaneously to me; a boyish timbre rutted into a Brownie undertone, as if Scout herself bought a guitar and learned to wail. Her recordings became a critical part of the soundtrack of my college days. Her recording of “Blue Like That” still stands as one of my most treasured audio-lockets…and if I think more about that, I will cry on this plane, and I don’t intend to do that.

Katie was giving and adventurous. When I called her in the midst of putting together her second record and invited her, at absolutely no pay, reward, or promise of decent food, to trek out into the wilderness of Indiana with my brother and I to play music and entertain junior high kids for a weekend…she didn’t hesitate. She packed her guitar, donned a preposterous wig and Cruella deVille jacket, joined our silly weekend without fanfare or prodding, and spent the next 72 hours improvising the flavor of ridiculous dialogue that makes 13-year-olds giggle.

When I caught my hand on fire trying to play a lighter-fluid dragon, she did the only thing that made sense to her at the time…shoved it between her thighs and squeezed. We laughed until one of us peed.

The only thing that ever bothered her was when someone would call her by her full-name-as-one-word, like “TigerWoods” or “GarthBrooks.” She was a musician and aspired to sing for the world, but I never got the feeling she wanted to be a celebrity…not like that.

Katie gave out of a very honest place, and she gave a lot. She sang out of a very real place, and she sang beautifully. She was hilarious, and she was lovely.

I have no idea how to think about Katie’s death.

I’m sad, and I’m angry, and I’m doubting. And I’m so, so sorry. Reider family, I am so sorry. Karen, I am so sorry. I feel like you deserve better than this.

Katie, I miss who you are. I’m glad you are not suffering any more, and I know you’re back home with your mom…wherever that place is…but I can’t help but feel like the world was better with you here.

Peace,
Justin