Q&A

Inspired by (which is a euphemistic way to say "totally stealing the idea of") a recent post by one of my favorite writers, David Sedaris, I would like to try something new: how about some Q&A?
In the comments below, ask me a question. Any kind of question: a personal question, a hypothetical question, a question about history, religion, or women's virtue, you name it.
Sample questions: Do you remember the first time you said the "F word"?
Why was the election of 1848 important?
Who wrote the book of love?
You get the idea... let's see where this leads!

Michael Bunn: Which would you rather be for a day and why: the Oscar Meyer Weiner guy or Bozo the Clown?
A: Wow, that is a tough one, but thankfully it is only for one day. I would have to go with Bozo, partly because I don’t even know if there is an “Oscar Meyer Weiner Guy,” unless you mean the guy who drives the Weinermobile, and I don’t even have a driver’s license, so that’s out of the question. Plus, ask anyone who knows me well and they will tell you that I have always had issues with what I call “phallic food”. And another thing, the Oscar Meyer Weiner jingle always bothered me a bit, too. There were two versions, one where they say, “’Cuz if I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner, everyone would be in love with me”, and another where “..everyone would take a bite of me.” I mean, who really wants to be eaten alive? And having everyone in love with me sounds nice at first, but I want to be loved for my intellect and personality and possibly my incredible body, not because I’m a weiner!
Not that I’m eager to be Bozo, though, to be honest. That giant orange hair has always bothered-slash-scared me a little bit. Bozo is just one tiny lighting adjustment away from being one of those nightmare clowns which have kids sleeping with a nightlight all the way through junior high. Although, come to think of it, it could be fun being that type of Bozo for a day.

Dennis Conway: What's your earliest memory?
A: That depends. My very first memory isn’t really a “memory”, it’s more of a flash of an image, a random moment which for some reason has stayed with me all these years. I was being held by my father as he stood in some kind of office. He held me across his chest and I was looking behind him over his shoulder. I remember wood paneling and another man in the office. I remember feeling that my father was very pleased and proud to have me there with him.
The first memory I have which is more of a real recollection of an event or a series of events, was when we were living in Reisterstown, which had to have been before I was four years old. My parents had gotten into the habit of playing a game with me when we found ourselves outside on a starry night, when my dad would lift me up high and I would try with all my might to pluck a star down from the sky. Until one morning, when I awoke in my crib to find a star in there with me. It was a green satin, pin-cushiony kind of thing, embellished with sparkles and sequins. This, apparently, was before parents worried about so-called “choking hazards”. When Mom came in to get me, she told me that I had finally gotten one of the stars from the night sky. I felt wonderful and it is a wonderful first “memory” to keep. True dat.
 
Scott Barnett: Have you ever woken up somewhere and had no idea of how you got there? If so, please elaborate.
A: Scott, you know me well enough to know that that has happened to me many, many times. Which time would you like me to elaborate on? Perhaps the first.
Fortunately, when I woke up, I was, at least, in my own bed. The worst thing was that my own bed was still located at my parents’ house. I won’t go much into the night before, except that I will say that this was the late 70s before methaquaalone was banned. Does the phrase “Lemmon 714” mean anything to anyone? Anyway, I learned later that my friends had dropped me off in the wee hours at my parents’ house, in the rain. They rang the doorbell and took off. My mother found me at the door, propped against the pillar, with one shoe on and one shoe in my hand.

Alice Warmouth: What makes the face on the moon?
A: In reality, it is our brain which makes the man in the moon. After millions of years of evolution, we are hard-wired to look for human faces everywhere. This is the same phenomenon which causes the spontaneous apparition of the Blessed Virgin in an English muffin, or the face of Jesus to appear in your Fribble at Friendly’s. Some call it a miracle. I have been to Australia, where the moon looks like someone’s butt, which is another thing our brains are hard-wired to look for.

Bill Duggan: can you still play the bagpipes?
A: No, but I do have a refrigerator magnet in the shape of a bagpipe which plays 5 different songs, like “Scotland the Brave” and “Amazing Grace” at the touch of a button.
 
Elaine Hoffman Halley: What do you like about New England that you didn't in MD?
A: At this point, I have lived in Provincetown for over 26 years, which is more than half my life. I have spent more time in Massachusetts than I did in Maryland. It was never my intention, really, to move here, at least not because there was something about New England that I liked more or less than the mid-Atlantic. This is just sort of where the winds of life blew me. But, if I had to pick something to prefer about New England, I would probably have to answer: the accent. Color me crazy, but I guess I prefer “wicked pissah” to “warsh the greazy zink”.
That being said, there are a number of Baltimore ex-pats who live here in town, and we always greet one another with a hearty, “Hey, Hon!”

Heidi Jinea Cappadona: Who put the bomp in the bomp shu bomp shu bomp?
 A: It was the same guy who put the ram in the rama-lama-ding-dong. Or  it might have been the Duke Duke Duke Duke of Earl Earl Earl. I don’t  know. Ask fucking Siri.