As it turns out, someone actually reads my blog. I'm not a big fan of blog-tag memes. They strike me as the Web 2.0 version of chain letter emails. I suppose I understand their existence. What with the biggest gripe bloggers have seems to be that they just run out of stuff to write about.
That being said, I'm touched to be tagged (and if only I could construct the pun that's dying to be made in there), so I'll try to give you 5 things that no one knows about me. Oh, and they're gonna get dark since I have a tendency to share the happy stuff, so stop reading before you learn more than you want to.
It was I who stepped in the tar
When I was about 12, grandma Peters had some work done on the door to enter her house which resulted in tar (I think it was a highly viscous black substance) being placed at the base. We were warned not to step in it. I did it anyway, and had a good laugh with my aunt (who had a similar emotional maturity) looking at my foot covered in black gook and yelling back to my grandmother that I didn't know whose footprint it was.
I play up my OCD
While I do have a light case of OCD (just enough to make me prefer symmetry a little too much), I have a tendency to play up its effects. I haven't yet sorted out why I do it, but I think that it comes from people getting a kick out of it, and sharing that they feel the same way about the stacks of weights at the gym.
I prefer 2-3 close friends to a dozen good ones
I've always been the person to prefer having a few close friends with whom I share everything and can go to about/for anything than a larger set of people with whom I'm friendly and can count on, but not feel comfortable doing so. I actually use the set of close friends more than anything else in defining eras of my life (even more than job/school delineations)
I don't like hanging out with Andrews SF Friends
I don't know if it's the social introductions are odd when I go to hang out with people that Andrew knows really well and I know practically no one. Or if it's that I just don't like meeting people. Or if it's just that I've been spoiled by geeks and scientists for so long. Though I also think that a part of it is that I'll never be that typical 20-something.
I'm afraid of the other Keith
About half the time when I look in the mirror I see the other Keith looking out. This other Keith is the person that I thought I left behind in 2003 when the current one escaped. He had only brief purviews before then (like in Baja in 2002), but I feel like he's being forced back in again already. I find myself playing video games and watching TV at the expense of outdoors/gym/cycling/climbing time.
And the goatee doesn't help. It's loss was a symbol of the transition, in addition to being a reminder of an unfortunate evening which taught me (if nothing else) to grow a pair of balls.
If you're still with me, well shame on you for being so nosy. I'm supposed to hand this off to some people to write they're own versions, but I refuse to forward chain letters. That, and this catharsis is the wrong way to pass the torch, so I'm just gonna terminate this branch here.