1. What is your favorite word?
Pass. No, I'm not being a spoil-sport - when you've failed a year in college, "pass" becomes a beautiful word.
2. What is your least favorite word?
Paradigm. People who use that word without understanding what it means should be killed instantaneously by an Act of God. It's only fair.
3. What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)?
Creatively: it comes in little bursts, usually at 2:14am when I can't sleep. An idea hits me and I have to get up and write it down.
Spiritually: being comfortably curled up with a good book.
Emotionally: big tits.*
4. What turns you off?
Lawnmowers and ice cream vans. Studying for my finals, I learned my true purpose in life: the destruction of all lawn mowers and ice cream vans. There's this one that comes into my estate, playing the
Match of the Day tune, and I suddenly feel saddened that I don't have access to land mines or heavy artillery.
5. What is your favorite curse word?
Smeg. I use a few rather boring swear words in casual speach a little too often, but smeg (a creation of
Red Dwarf) is perfect. eg. Smeg off, you stupid smeg-head.
6. What sound or noise do you love?
Rainwater. Either the dull, heavy roar on a roof, or the delightful tinkling of it dancing away to start over. I love the fresh smell of the city after a burst of rain.
7. What sound or noise do you hate?
The afformentioned lawnmowers and ice cream vans would be joined by heavy drilling (including especially that noice when the dentist turns his motorised lump hammer on) and the old classic of styrofoam being rubbed against more styrofoam.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Professional author. Unfortunately, that's another way of expressing "poor", so I'm into my second love of electronics research for its bill-paying capacity.
9. What profession would you not like to do?
Anything boring and repeditive. I'd hate not to be challenged by my job.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Well, let's see. You died at the age of a hunderd an eight, of a mild heart attack. So far, so good... Wait... you were with how many women? At the same time? How can I let you in here? What would the children think?
*Okay, only kidding about this last one, but I couldn't resist the chance to change direction like that.
