This is quite old, but as I've remained unchanged, so shall it.

No one understands my rather passionate enthusiasm for the 1990 Sheen-Estevez venture, Men at Work. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter and grow sad. I want the one I can't have. When I'm home alone, I like to don a vintage slip and comically false lashes and imagine I'm a cat on a hot tin roof. I live for photos of wailing babies and/or ailing old ladies squirming in the padded embrace of mall Easter Bunnies. Or anyone in a fur suit. I stumble down my bedroom stairs at least once a week. Sometimes I tumble to the bottom. That's where these bruises come from. Well, most of them. Daddy drank. I'm not much of a talker. I'd like you to think that it's because I'm a secret agent with a gun as shiny and black as the synthetic wig I'm wearing, but in truth it's often just too hard to find the words. Doug Wilson of television's Trading Spaces, I'd ask you to marry me, too, but I have this deeply rooted, irrational aversion to men in flipflops.

I'm not yet satisfied with the honest answer to that question, so... What *will* I do with my life? I will work as a production assistant/temple massager/blood mixer on an independent horror film. I will sew you and myself closetsful of simple sheath dresses, modest A-line skirts and cunning little bags. I will attend Tom Savini's school of special effects makeup. I will be a freelance journalist and a (non-freelance) librarian. I will own, recondition and operate an early 20th entury-era moviehouse. I thought I wanted to marry Jeffrey Combs until I saw him performing oral sex acts in a B-film. It scarred me to such a degree that now I think perhaps I'd be better suited as his (or any film industry player's) personal assistant. I will never marry; Jeffrey Combs is not to blame.

being a slave to the beauty regime. isolating myself. apart from grand love-or-family-type relationships, being unable to relate to others on any real, human level. procrastinating. binge eating. dodging cameras and unwelcome male attention. feeling alien, sexless (that is neither male nor female). dwelling on my flaws - real or imagined. soaking up the most useless information in a way not unlike a sponge. motorcycle passengering. roadtripping and daytripping. enjoying little things.

I have a love-it/get-it or hate-it/get-it-away-from-me sort of face. Spaz. I tend to stutter and mumble and utter regrettably silly things in the presence of new people.

a: books: Thomas Hardy. I feverishly read his introductory description of Farmer Gabriel Oak in FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD when I'm feeling...off; it never fails to infuse me with a general sense of warmth and well-being. I like David Sedaris, John Waters, Joe Bob Briggs, and Oscar Wilde as well. I don't finish nearly as many books as I'd like. The only books I pick up these days are cookbooks and guides to offbeat America.

b: movies: I'm an auteur enthusiast. It's likely I'll love anything by Jean-Pierre Melville, Tom Tykwer, George Romero, Patrice Leconte, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, John Waters, Wes Anderson, Guillermo del Toro, Whit Stillman, Christopher Guest, David Cronenberg, Tim Burton, Don McKellar, Pedro Almodovar, Jim Jarmusch, Quentin Tarantino, Antonia Bird and the Coens. Excluding all of the works of the aforementioned filmmakers, that leaves...*

The Adventures of Sebastian Cole, (3/4 of) AI, The Aviator, Basquiat, Better off Dead, Breaking Away, Bride of Re-Animator, Bubba Ho-Tep, Buffalo '66, The Burbs, The Butcher Boy, Clay Pigeons, The Collector, The Convent, The Dancing Outlaw, Dellamorte Dellamore, Depeche Mode 101, Drop Dead Fred, East of Eden, Evil Dead trilogy, Ghost World, Giant, Le Huitieme Jour, Just One of the Guys, Kicking and Screaming (Baumbac), Kiss or Kill, Lawn Dogs, The Limey, Memento, Night of the Living Dead ('90), Popcorn, Pretty in Pink, Pride and Prejudice, Quills, Re-Animator, Rock and Roll High School Forever, Safe Men, Session 9, Shallow Grave, Shaun of the Dead, The Shining, Sixteen Candles, Ski Patrol, Touch of Evil, 28 Days Later, Twin Falls Idaho, Versus, The Way of the Gun, Wet Hot American Summer, What's Eating Gilbert Grape?, Wild Zero, The Young Poisoner's Handbook...

* Lies! I love Cronenberg, the man, and Jim Jarmusch, the man, but I do not necessarily love or even like any of their films. I adore Almodovar movies from the '90s and beyond, but I can't stomach his earlier works.

c: music: NPR. MTV's late "120 Minutes" and that period of alt.music defines my musical tastes. I'm into moody nordic pop/rock (particularly that of Sweden); British pop/rock; new wave; an as yet specifically general type of 60s/70s hard rock; garage rock; hard psych; any metal featuring operatic, acrobatic vocals; & showtunes. I also love the music my mother listened to when I was a small child (yacht and pop rock). My tastes and the ways in which I consume music are in transition at present.

: tv : Man Stroke Woman. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Human Giant. Garth Marenghi's Darkplace. Louis Theroux anything. Gordon Ramsay anything.

d: foods: My capacity for food intake is unmatched. Very slowly am I trying to taste all locally available ethnic foodstyles, but I am a picky, quirky eater. I expertly inhale breakfast cereals and foods, chicken prepared any number of ways, sushi, apples, peach cobbler, and cakes saturated with nectar and sugars.

my ever-expanding collection of vintage housewares and oddities. genuine and deeply felt physical and emotional closeness. my independence. there's this sound the night makes with a body of fresh water and a plethora of wildlife living wildly; I would prefer not to live without that sound. roadtrips. my love!

my happiest, adventure-filled future (with robots). the horrible, terrible state of my personal finances. honestly and sadly -- my (self-)perceived flaws and the (good) qualities I lack. Pete Burns' lips. mine, too. how lovely thou art. the choices I've made, the choices I will make (when the zombies attack). my love!

Watching Louis Theroux specials with my fella. Whipping through the country and city streets on a vintage motorbike.

Despite the fact that I let my insecurities incapacitate me, I know I'm a lovely person both inside and out. Really. But that's not very private, is it?

- you neither expect nor require a reply. -

you are John Bloom.

- you probably shouldn't message me. I have no interest whatsoever in local singles, faraway singles, or anyone who may send a 'hey, baby' in my general direction.

-- no really. I'm not interested; you're not interested. Unless you're genuinely excited about the aforementioned films and such. And then, please, no corny advances. I am beside myself with happy to call the loveliest boy in the land mine.