Q & A

One of my favourite magazine features is the Proust Questionnaire in "Vanity Fair". Should you ever find yourself on "Inside the Actor's Studio", James Lipton will likely accost you with his version of the quiz. However, despite what Mr. Lipton may tell you, it was not invented by Marcel Proust; it was merely popularized by him. And I'm pretty sure neither Proust nor his contemporaries would care one bit that your favourite curse word is "motherfucker".

Since Graydon Carter has yet to call (does he have my cell number?), I've taken it upon myself to provide my answers. Lucky you.

What is your current state of mind?
A bit wistful. And peckish.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I don't know that perfect happiness actually exists, but a summer evening, just after twilight, on my back deck, lanterns lit, with a beer and people who make me laugh is pretty great. Or at the shore, summer evening, just after twilight, with a beer and one person who makes me laugh.

What is your greatest fear?
Losing my parents.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Every one always wants to answer this with "Napoleon" or "Cleopatra" or "Caligula". So what the hell - Dorothy Parker. But with less drinking and far fewer affairs. So a debauchery lite Dorothy Parker. All the bitchy wit, fewer carbs.

Which living person do you most admire?
Jane Goodall. Judy Blume. Carol Burnett.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Procrastination.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
An unwillingness to experience new things.

What is it that you most dislike?
Spiders. With one exception. See below.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My profile. Or my knees.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Kindness. A curious mind. And nice forearms.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Self-sufficiency. And a dirty laugh.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Perfect, tiny, overpriced pastries. Heaps of flowers for my deck. Sleeping in far too late on the weekends.

What do you most value in your friends?
A sense of humour and a slight tendency towards, and love of, the inappropriate. And to plagiarize from recent Questionnaire subject Albert Brooks, that they dislike the same people I do.

What is your favorite journey?
Nearly every year, my Mom and I make the drive from my house to my parents' house for Christmas, usually on the 24th. Every year, she says she want to get home early. And every year, we stop countless times: for Starbucks' holiday drinks, for a few more stocking stuffers, for a present for the dog, to see if my Aunt has good snacks and tea on. Every year, the 90 minute drive takes us at least 4 or 5 hours. And I love it.

What is your most treasured possession?
My grandfather's shaving brush and my grandmother's cameo. A distant third is the bath tray that allows me to read books in the tub.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Restraint and patience are in a battle to the death over this one. One I wish I possessed more of; you can decide which one...

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"Awesome." "Fuck." "Don't bite your sister."

On what occasion do you lie?
Unfortunately for some, not often enough. But almost always when asked by an ex-boyfriend how my love life is going. And after about picture number 65 in most wedding albums.

Which living person do you most despise?
Is the guy who decided to fuck with Scooby Doo back in the day still alive? Then him.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Victor Saunders.

When and where were you happiest?
Very likely The Amalfi Coast. 2006. Before the limoncello. After the limoncello. Just perhaps not during the limoncello.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I'd be a mom.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Buying my house.

Which talent would you most like to have?
 I would love to be able to sing. Not Celine style, just in tune. Or play the piano.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
The panelling in my parents' rec room.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Leaving a hospital room for the last time.

What is your favorite occupation?
Spending hours in a large book store, with easy access to coffee.  Or exploring some place I've never been, armed with a well-written guide book and/or a witty travel companion.

What is your greatest regret?
I try not to have too many, but spending so much of my 30s doubting myself would be a big one.

What is your most marked characteristic?
My sense of humour. Or my boobs. My most unmarked characteristic is rampant sentimentality.

Who are your favorite writers?
Gabriel Garcia Marquez. J.K. Rowling. e.e. cummings. Carolyn Keene.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Charlotte, of "Charlotte's Web".

How would you like to die?
Many, many years from now, two hours past twilight, on the Amalfi Coast. After a glass of limoncello and regaling my tablemates with the dirtiest joke they've ever heard.

What is your motto?
"Life is to be enjoyed. Eat the damn cupcake". Or, occasionally,  "Just shut up and kiss me". Depends on the day. And the wine tally.

And in case Mr. Lipton is reading this, mine rhymes with "rock chucker".

Anything you can do...

My friends and I have spent a lot of time lately lamenting how things seemed better in our 20s. How many sentences have started with "when I was 25" recently? I don't think a single one of us would want to be back there; most of us were idiots. Or dating them. But we've been romanticizing it all the same. Here's the thing - I don't think there's a single thing I did better then than I do now.

1) I'm a better friend, I think. Sure, we've all been the star of our very own self-centrefold, but there's a maturity and a depth to many of my friendships that's based on more than just borrowing clothes and meeting guys. And the classic younger woman one-upmanship friendships are largely gone, which is a relief; it was exhausting.

2) I'm a better daughter. I didn't really know my father's parents, but I was 25 and then 39 when Mom's parents died, and I think losing your grandparents well into adulthood is totally different. Seeing your parents lose their parents, as an adult, really drives home how it changes a person.

3) I'm a better cook. Of course it's partly because I have more experience, partly because I discovered good cheese, and partly because I now own a mezzaluna, a food processor and a lemon zester. But mostly it's because I've realized there are few things more enjoyable than making a meal for others in your own home. Granted, there was a method to all the nacho madness: George the really hot waiter at JJ Rossy's.

4) Sex. At 25, it's often about hormones and conquest. Now it's self-confidence and self-awareness and the knowledge that some things should not be rushed. Unless you want to. Or if Anderson Cooper is on in 15 minutes.

5) Speaking of which, I'm a better girlfriend. I've figured out that wanting someone to be something they're not works about 0% of the time. Besides, I pretty much wear my own foibles like this season's statement necklace, so I can't expect anything different from a partner. Granted, this one's theoretical, since all the single men around my age want to date 25 year olds. Irony, party of one.

6) I'm smarter. I know what I don't know,and I know when I'm wrong. And believe me, in my mid 20s, I knew that I was wrong about nothing. Except guys. And clothing choices. And which types of booze should really NOT be mixed.

7) I'm better at failing. Or I'm trying to be. I've never been a perfectionist, exactly, but I used to let failure eat at me. Now, I really try to give things over to a combination of timing, luck and trying my best. Sure, there are those rare people who always get the guy, and the job, and the great concert tickets, but for most of us, that isn't reality. And that's okay. I think dealing with the little failures and disappointments (and trust me, between 25 and now, there have been many) puts the bigger ones into perspective.

I don't mean to sound like I'm done, that I've learned it all and have become the version of me I'll always be. So thanks, 25 - you were a lot of fun, but I never want to see you again. And I have every intention of revisiting this when I'm 60 and marvelling at how little I knew in my early 40s.

Divided we stand

There are some things in this life that truly divide us. Things we fervently disagree on, with no hope of ever seeing the other side. No, sillies, I'm not talking about the results of our recent election (what happens in Vegas, am I right Ruth Ellen?), or the no hits to the head in hockey debate, or even, in the case of my ex-boyfriend, the clinical definition of monogamy. I'm talking about other, far more divisive and incendiary things. I dare you not to have an unswayable opinion on at least some of these:

1) "Life of Pi". Countless fans will tell you it's a fable for the ages. Other will tell you it's punishment for something horrible they didn't realize they did. I won't say that I'd rather be on a lifeboat with a tiger than forced to read another page of that book. That would be excessive. What I'd really like is to have a time machine, so I could send Yann Martel back a decade or so. To a lifeboat. Where a tiger would eat him, thus making the book never happen.

2) Crunchy versus puffy Cheesies. This was brought to my attention this weekend. I wasn't aware this was a bone of contention, nor was I aware I had a strong opinion on it. Bonus! I say the puffy ones, since they're half air, thus taking up more space and taking fewer to satisfy me. Crunchy purists say they benefit from more condensed cheesiness. But let's face it; everyone's a winner in this debate. It's a serving of dairy, and calcium is important.

3) "The English Patient" (the movie version). Some moviegoers (hey, Mom) say this jerked their tears like no other. Here's the thing: she's dead, or nearly so. The next two hours and 58 minutes (give or take) are just leading up to how she got dead. She's still dead. And no amount of naked Ralph Fiennes will change the fact that I already know the ending five minutes in. See also: Benes, Elaine.

4) Black jelly beans. It seems as though people who love them love them more than any other colour.  We have a candy machine at work. Your .25 cents might, if you're lucky, get you seven  beans. My ideal mix would be three white, two pink, an orange and maybe a yellow. My friend Kate would be thrilled with 5 black and two green. And yet she seems so normal. What the hell flavour is green supposed to be, anyway? Pine?

5) Pineapple on your pizza. I wasn't aware this was such a line in the sauce issue until fairly recently. It seems to be loosely split along gender lines, with most men steering so far clear of a Hawaiian pizza you'd swear it causes temporary impotence. Don't get me wrong; pineapple only belongs on certain kinds of pizza. But when it's good, it's all kinds of awesome. Go on, baby - have a slice. It's good, isn't it? What? Oh, it happens to everybody once in a while. We can just cuddle.

6) Movies with Vin Diesel in them. Okay, this one may not be all that divisive. No, actually, it is. Between the 7,836,363 people who paid $11 a ticket opening weekend, and me. Fast and Furious 17 killed it at the box office opening weekend, making something like $86 million. Some would say you can't argue with $86 million dollars. No, you can't. But you can make every effort to key the cars of as many of those 7,836,363 idiots as possible while they're eating popcorn and cheering for this nonsense.

7) Nickelback. I don't need to tell you which side of the coin I'm on, right?

8) Red vs. white wine. I know what you're thinking - plenty of people like both. No, they don't. Not really. Sure, they might say they do, but they have a definite preference. Most white wine drinkers I know really dislike red wine. At least red wine drinkers will humour you and drink a glass of white if you offer it to them. But they're judging you while they do it. Think about it - you're having one of those dark nights of the soul, do you head to the kitchen thinking "Oh, hey, you know what goes well with heartbreak? Chardonnay." You do? Jesus. If I'm going to regret something deeply the next morning, I'd like the tannin headache to show for it. And red wine is just sexier. Nothing bad ever came of opening a bottle of red with a guy you're sweet on. You know what comes of opening a bottle of white with a guy you're sweet on? Blue balls. 
 
There are so many more - Tim Horton's coffee, yay or nay? Chest hair, hot or not? Thong underwear, evil or genius? And while we may disagree on those, I think there's one thing we can all agree on: Yann Martel needs to have his wrists slapped. By a tiger.