I tend to be the anti-hero of most of my stories which delights my friends to no end. The one involving me, a pack of coyotes (the collective noun for which is a rout!), a tape recorder, and a bowl of cereal is a perennial favorite.
I am passionate about what I do and am drawn to those who live according to passion and principle (in a non-dogmatic, secular kind of way). I am driven equally by Goethe's maxim "the dangers of life are infinite and safety is among them," and Diderot's "the purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things." Not eating anything bigger than your head is also a good rule of thumb.
I once went to the North Pole with my mother, but found it little different from going anywhere with my mother. I love hospitals, but never require hospitalization. I have a deep and abiding hatred/fear of creatures that move laterally (crabs, snakes, etc.). Also wicker. For years I did not know that “P.Y.T.” in Michael Jackson’s song “P.Y.T.” stood for “pretty young thing.” (This even though the chorus begins “I want to love you, PYT, pretty young thing…” The cognitive/sensory dissonance that comes from the fact that certain things can smell one way and taste another (e.g. bakers chocolate, vanilla extract) makes me sleepy.
I enjoy getting lost, dramatic weather, cut grass, the car wash, sparklers, the drive-in, and most things coin operated. Also, ice cream sandwiches. And granny smith apples.
YOU should carry around a lot of change and have an ice cream sandwich vending machine. Or, short of that, an apple tree.
*I would also like to find someone who can tell me that there is no right way to fold a fitted sheet (I would also accept someone who can show me the right way to fold a fitted sheet).