Talking to myself

This post was originally published July 29, 2004.

I’m having a bit of a blog ennui problem again, so while I figure out what to write, I thought I’d simply conduct interviews. But since I’m really suffering from ennui, I didn’t want to actually interview someone. So I thought I’d try to interview myself. MQ is Meryl the Questioner. MA is Meryl the Answerer. Just so you don’t get confused over which of us is which (although most of the MQ excerpts should end with a question mark, which looks like a button hook, in case you needed that explained to you).

MQ: Let’s start with something simple. How old are you?
MA: You have got to be kidding.
MQ: No, really. How old are you?
MA: Shut up.
MQ: Why don’t you want to tell me how old you are? Have you got something to hide? Is this supposed to be a big secret or something? I could find out if I really wanted to.
MA: Don’t forget, when I get embarrassed, you get embarrassed, and I’m just about to tell everyone about the time when you were a kid and you really had to go to the bathroom and—
MQ: You’re single, right?
MA: Right.
MQ: Why?
MA: What are you, my mother?

MQ: You’re dodging the question again.
MA: Fine. Because I haven’t found the right guy yet.
MQ: You’re not looking very hard, are you? I mean, I know how old you are, and you’re still single, and I know you’re not gay, so howcome you’re not married?
MA: Then there was that time in sixth grade when Wayne Roth—
MQ: So why do you blog?
MA: Hello, it’s right there in the About page.
MQ: Yes, but that’s more than three years old. Let’s hear a new reason. You’ve been writing this weblog nearly every day for three years, and you’re not getting a salary, and your visitor count is really not that big, considering the top bloggers are all in five digits now, and you’re still in four. So why?
MA: Hm. Habit, I think. Well, that, and now I feel guilty if I don’t post every day. There are people out there who read this weblog regularly, and I hate disappointing them. Which is not to say that I don’t take breaks when I need them. Busch Gardens trips beat out the weblog obligation every time.
MQ: Yes, but feeling guilty isn’t really a good enough reason to spend hours a day doing this work for essentially nothing.
MA: I like having an audience for my writing. And hey, my readers bought me the new/old computer!
MQ: Yes, they did, they contributed more than $250, and they were wonderful. But the blog isn’t paying the rent, and by the way, how are you managing with the bills this month?
MA: Then there were all those times in Kevin Hawley’s rec room, when you and Cindy and Kevin and Greg and—
MQ: So let me see if I have this right: Every time I ask a question you don’t want to answer, you’re going to bring up something embarrassing from our past.
MA: Yup.
MQ: You know, you could just say, “I’d rather not answer that.”
MA: Yup.
MQ: Sadist.
MA: Nope. I’m just being me.
MQ: Yup. I mean, okay. New question: Who are you voting for in November? (And by the way, about damned time you straightened out your voter registration screwup. Don’t forget, if you don’t get the registration validation in two weeks, call them.)
MA: I haven’t decided yet. I’ve been watching the DNC carefully. I think this is the most important election of my life, and I want to see if Kerry has a sensible policy on the Terror War. Note that I’m not saying “the war on terror.” It’s a war, and it’s the Terror War. I hate nearly all of Bush’s domestic policies, but I’m willing to hold my nose and vote for him if I think that Kerry’s going to blow the war.
MQ: If you were a tree, which—
MA: Two words: Dino Magley.
MQ: Fine. It’d probably be willow, anyway. I know the willow tree is your favorite.
MA: It’s the most beautiful tree in existence, if you ask me. I wish I had a dozen of them in my yard.
MQ: You don’t have a yard yet.
MA: Okay. I wish I had a yard, and a dozen willow trees in it.
MQ: So do I. All right: What’s your favorite food?
MA: The fried potato in nearly all of its forms. Chips, fries, latkes… yum.
MQ: Favorite drink?
MA: Coke. Classic, in glass bottles, if possible. I treat myself to a six-pack from time to time. Used to buy one a week as a present after I quit smoking. I was still saving over twenty bucks a week. Now, a six-pack of glass bottles cost less than a pack of cigarettes in NJ.
MQ: Yeah, good thing you quit smoking. Six years and two months next week. On Dad’s birthday, come to think of it. He’d have been 81.
MA: So how old are you?
MQ: Oh, shut up. He got married old, remember? And Mom was practically an old maid when she got married. That’s why they’re so old. I’m not old. Anyway, you know what I always say: You’re only as old as you look, and I don’t look my age.
MA: That’s true, you were carded until you were well over the legal drinking age.
MQ: So you think we can find a guy through this weblog?
MA: I think that if we haven’t found one yet in more than three years of blogging, it ain’t gonna happen. All the neat stuff seems to happen to other bloggers. Feh.
MQ: What’s with you and email lately?
MA: Ennui. I’m backlogged. Things are still pretty rough in my personal life. When that happens, I tend to distract myself from the issues at hand by doing things like watching old Buffy episodes. Only I saw an episode of Angel last night that makes me want to watch Angel eps, but I only have season one on DVD. Bummer.
MQ: You have all those tapes.
MA: Hey, yeah, that’s right! Kewl. By the way, bored now.
MQ: But I haven’t even gotten started yet!
MA: Yeah, but I’m done.