Taking a cue from a good year of lurking about the accounts of others here, I believe this is the space where I am expected to feign indignation at "being forced" to describe myself in "so small a space", for clearly my "waters are too deep" to summarize! How dare OKcuid, and its cold, uncaring robot soul expect me to briefly and succinctly state a few small facts that I would want people I have an expressed interest in to know about me! Don't you understand!? I'm clever and sarcastic and the only realistic way to get this across is to claim that "you have to get to know me" as writing is -definitely- not a way to get personality across. "You're lucky I'm being coy with you in order to have a quirky preamble, okcupid, or we'd have come to fisticuffs", I would say, waggling my finger in admonishment. You're a naughty one, OKcupid.

Oh man, I think I totally nailed that one! Now all I have to do is be deeply offended that the profile expects me to "share a secret", cleverly list "water and air" as two of the six things I cannot live without, and proclaim "livin' it" to the question "What I'm doing with my life". Then they'll -have- to let me into the OKcupid Cupid Gang!

Anyway. My name is Josh and I am a 6'5"-ish Student of the Arts at Cal State University Long Beach (he said, raising his pinkie in a gesture of sophistication) who fancies himself to be something of a wordsmith with a soft spot for all things nerd. Oh, and Baroque. I love me some snooty French ballgowns and pomp wigs.

My days seem to be a constant battle between college, drawing tits and wangs like they're going out of style, and "working for the money" at my part time job that provides a delicious garnish of disposable income on my life smörgåsbord. I have often run into trouble with this whole "student of the arts" thing. Before your fanciful thoughts of a dark, tall, sensitive man delicately painting water lillies to pay the month's rent/set the professional water-lilly-drawing community on fire take too strong a hold of you, I should point out; I got into this business for the great pleasure of one day drawing comic books! And none of this hoity toity art house comic stuff about World War II era mice or Truman Capote; I dream of drawing tit-and-wang-accentuating-spandex wearing super heroes who regularly shout out things no actual human being would ever say simply because most comic writers are talentless. The kind of comic where my editors give me advice along the lines of "yeah, this is alright but Wonderwoman's tits need to be two sizes bigger and Batman's crotch box isn't shaded in enough detail. Oh, and draw the bitch slammin' some fucker into a table. That'd be sweet!" I do this so that one day, once I've established myself to a point where I can draw Wonderwoman's breasts -however I darn well feel like it-, I can write my own stories to my own comics. Continuing the cycle of nerdy franchises anew.

On an average day that involves drawing, I spend a good 4 hours obsessing over the symmetry of the body. Not necessarily in one of those arty senses. More in the mathematician way. My brain has reached the point, after having had a good 2 years straight of drawing nude middle-aged balding men (and the occasional Suicide Girl-esque female model who -greatly- made my days) in various flavors of life-drawing classes, where I measure everything in abstract little body part formulas. For example, did you know your waist is roughly 8 to 10 eye width's wide!?

You don't care, you say? Oh. Well then! Carry on with your "inches and centimeters".

Talking smart. About smart stuff. Smart stuff smart people talk about. Wars, philosophies, comparative literature. You know, the usual.

Drawing, I guess. Though I always hesitate to praise my own drawing skills simply because, well, people who do that are jerks. HUGE jerks. And usually, they're awful and they spent most of their youth trying to convince people on Deviant art to favorite every terrible and derivative piece of anime fan-art they posted. (Also, I have a deviant art account that I made when I was a teenager and it has anime fan-art. I FEEL LIKE A WHORE.)

"I am a great listener. A sensitive soul."

I fancy myself a writer every now and then, in the way that all people who seem to have some form of grammar and syntax that makes them sound kinda stuffy do. But I tend to prefer the conceptualizing stuff over the actual "doing work and writing" part.

(The use of parentheticals)

-maybe- sarcasm? Unless this entire profile reads as if I'm the most unbelievably snooty jerk on the planet. I swear to gosh, I'm moderately polite and charming!

Desperate post justifications.

I'm going to go with "WOW, TALL!" as the first noticeable feature. Perhaps a close second being "WHY IS HE SO EFFEMINATE EVEN THOUGH HE LOOKS LIKE A LUMBERJACK!?" On occasions, people point out the fact that I'm rockin' the "Shakespearean thespian bobbed haircut". And sometimes still, people notice that I resemble some sort of Sasquatch-like ape man.

What can I say; I have a weakness for darting into and out of thickets and appearing blurry in photographs.

Books: (warning; this section is laced with a thin layer of comics. I find that a well placed "kerclunk-ZOWIE" can be the most effective and moving literary device known to man.) Anything by Kurt Vonnegut, "The Cider House Rules" by John Irving, "1984" by duh, "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" by H.P."bigoted troll of a man" Lovecraft, "The Doom Patrol" by Grant Morrison, "Animal Man" also by Grant Morrison, "The Invisibles" by Grant Morrison, "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" by Alan Moore, "Jojo's Bizarre Adventure"/"Steel Ball Run" by Hirohiko Araki, and "The Razor's Edge" by the wonderfully effeminate Somerset Maugham, "Madame Bovary" by Gustave "I'd fuck him in a heart-beat" Flaubert.

Movies: Anything by David Lynch with a special soft-spot for Eraserhead and Mulholland Drive, The Wicker Man (the one without Nicolas Cage, na'tch'), Jacob's Ladder, Pulp Fiction, (murmer, murmer, Star Wars, murmer), I <3 Huckabees, Dancer in the Dark, Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, A Clockwork Orange, 2001: A Space Odyssey (basically, I have an intellectual hard-on for Kubrick), Up, There Will Be Blood, Thirst (korean vampire movie), The Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Man Who Fell to Earth.

Music: The Pixies, The Breeders, Garbage, David Bowie, Elton John, The Smiths/Morrisey, Rilo Kiley, Neko Case, The Pillows, Noodles, Scissor Sisters, Erasure, The Magnetic Fields, Bright Eyes, Desaparecidos, Queen, Bjork/The Sugarcubes, The Velvet Underground, The Cars, The Beatles, The Animals, Lou Reed, Willie Nelson, theSTART, Everclear, ABBA (seriously), -kinda- The Smashing Pumpkins, Deep Sea Diver (cute little local L.A. band) that one song by Duran Duran where in the music video this woman wears some sort of lampshade as a wedding head-cosy. You know what? I'm going to put Lady Gaga here. Because Poker Face is amazing. -Fuck y'all-

Television (because come on, television is pretty great): Twin Peaks, The X-files, Dexter, Doctor Who, Deadwood, Torchwood, True Blood, Six-Feet Under, Pushing Daisies, Battlestar Galactica, Daria, FLCL, The IT Crowd, The Prisoner, The Riches, Star Trek The Next Generation/Voyager/Enterprise, The Venture Bros., One Piece, Mystery Science Theater 3000, Life on Mars (the Euro-trash version!), Breaking Bad, Farscape, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles entirely because Shirley Manson plays a robotic urinal that kills people. -A-fucking-mazing!

A pencil and paper. Yes, these count as one thing. What, are they going to be checking my bags at the hypothetical "desert island" or something to make sure I didn't slide a pencil into the spiral binding of my sketchbook?

Reference photos of breasts and male butts. You know, for drawing. SERIOUSLY!

A tiny Dalek keychain that screams "EXTERMINATE!"

My ipod. Wait, I think this shoehorns me into bringing my computer now.

Shit, fine. My laptop computer named Audrey.

Rootbeer.

Deep, philosophical musings.

...

...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA! No, seriously, I pretty much think about tits and wangs constantly. But not in the erotic sense. In the art-y sense. For my education is attempting to hone me into a tool of great artistic destruction.

Grouping up with as many like-minded, sci-fi dork intellectuals as I can possibly fit into my best friend's room to watch Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles in hopes that Shirley Manson does something hot (i.e. appear on screen), scream at the telelvision during Battlestar Galactica, and make up excuses for not watching Dollhouse ("I have a headache and it's name is Joss Wheddon.")

Engaging in a Friday night "art jam" with my gang of comic drawing friends (who all draw better than me, leaving me with a great deal of self esteem!).

Watching episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000 on Youtube.

Playing some sort of stupid videogame, with a good chance of "singing to 'The Cars' in a karaoke game".

Man, this section. I have read so many people who seem to have such genuine resentment towards this personality profile asking for "the most" private thing that one is willing to admit. I understand the love of secrecy we all harbor, perverse little private voyeurs that we are, but I'm fairly sure that every now and then we can relax our tight guardedness and let out a little quirky fact about ourselves. (And all of you "nothing is private, just ask" folks are just as bad! LAZY!)

Ehem;

my ultimate sexual fantasy involves a robot programmed to emote in a french accent, an elaborate red Baroque ball gown, and an abandoned church.

Thank you.

Okay. I will concede that this question is stupid, Okcupid Cupid Gang.