rachelmanija: (Default)
( Jan. 21st, 2006 04:46 pm)
I have been tagged by [livejournal.com profile] coffeeem, who I think is already familiar with at least the first three. Nevertheless, I live to please:

The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits" and people who get tagged need to write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says "You have been tagged" (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours.

This is a bit tough, because lots of habits I have that are odd in the general population are common among fans and writers, such as extremely systematic but eccentric systems for arranging one's book collection, or the tendency to head for other people's bookshelves when first entering their homes.

1. Weirdness With Sitting.

I don't like to sit with my butt on a chair and my feet on the floor or dangling. If I must sit in a chair, and unless it's a great big comfy armchair I'd rather sit on the floor, I must pull up my feet and sit on them, or otherwise curl up into the chair. However, I would really rather sit on the floor. Or in a tree. Or lounge on a sofa or flop on a bed. Wedging myself into any place small enough to require wedging, such as the corner flanked by a bookcase and a dresser, is also good.

Many people attribute this to my years in India, but I already preferred floors, high places, and odd postures before I went there, and chairs are pretty standard over there anyway. What can I say? Chairs are uncomfortable, but the floor is cozy. Recent experiments in writing on the sofa with my laptop in my lap have proven fruitful as well.

2. Weirdness at the Table.

When sitting (ick!) at a table, I will pick up napkins, straws, the paper off straws, etc, and shred it, then roll it into a sort of string, then make elaborate designs on the table top with the resulting stringed paper bits. I do this without really thinking about it, and while participating in conversations. Other people tend to think that this is quite weird, and a sign that I'm terribly nervous (not that I've noticed) or a touch obsesive-compulsive.

I also like to play with the melted wax and flame of candles on the table. I have many times been accused of being a pyromaniac, and have occasionally (accidentally) set napkins or menus on fire. Other people have been known to remove candles to a side of the table where I can't reach them.

3. Weirdness with Eating.

I like to eat with my fingers. This one I do attribute at least partially to growing up in India, though I don't eat properly with my fingers unless I'm actually there. I frequently forget about the whole knife-and-fork thing, and pick up, say, salad leaves with my hands. I think this really grosses people out, but generally they are kind enough to pretend not to notice.

Also, I lick plates when I'm eating at home by myself. Don't tell my parents.

4. Mental Weirdness, Part I

I frequently have fragmentary bits of fantasies running in my mind. They frequently involve me beating up or otherwise foiling bad guys. What's odd about this, all things considered, is that they are almost always essentially realistic-- ie, not in the fantasy genre, not involving other worlds, not involving magic, not involving skills I don't have, and usually not even involving large changes in my life (ie, if I'm catching a bad guy, it's not because I'm a cop, but because I just happened to stumble across a crime in progress.) The only one I can think of offhand that's not realistic is the one where I'm the guardian for a bunch of mutant kids who escaped from a government institution that was experimenting on them. But even in that one, I'm not a mutant, I'm just me.

Either I am unusually satisfied with who I am, or I am unusually unimaginative.

5. Mental Weirdness, Part II

When I read descriptions of food or clothing or other desirable objects in books, I must decide which, if there's more than one of the same sort of item, I would rather have: the capon with grapes vs. the venison with blackberry sauce, or the blue jerkin vs. the black boots, down the list if there's a list. It's a compulsive little ritual that I do in the back of my mind, and I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. It doesn't usually distract me from the story, but some authors are so good at making food and clothes sound so desirable that I sometimes have to pause because it's so hard to choose. John M. Ford's The Last Hot Time is particularly good that way.
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