So, the text below is what I was using for my friendster profile. While I like this profile, I will admit that it is long-winded, and might make you think that I like to hear the sound of my own voice. Which I don't. I think my voice is kind of nasally. But anyway, this is still funny, and worth saving somewhere. And where better indeed than a blog. So welcome, read, enjoy and email me. I bet there's a link around here somewhere to do that, but I couldn't tell you where. I'm new to this. In the meantime, here you go - danimalicious@lycos.com.
-dan
To say that anyone, myself included, could ever actually describe themselves in this little box would be ludicrous. Asinine. Laughable. Inane (incidentally, my thesaurus also recommends “namby-pamby”). For truly, I cannot be contained in this little box, this little e-lectronic box. Even the infinite lanes of the information super-highway are far too constricting for me. And yet... Look out e-traffic and e-motorists, for I am passing on your left and no e-speedtrap shall stop me. I will try now - as much for your benefit as well as my own - to tell you “About Me”. I will call this piece “The Manifesto of Dan”. ... Let us commence. My friends - some of my very best friends, even - some of whom sing such sweet and flowery laudatory praises below, often take great pleasure and satisfaction
in describing me as a “jerk”, or “asshole”. And I gladly accept such monikers - I take pride in all of my accomplishments. As I do not like to disappoint, I take great care to make sure that my friends’ opinions are well-founded. To this end, I do not give up my seat on a crowded bus for anyone, be it an old lady, or an old man. I have a poor self-image, and I fancy myself a romantic alcoholic. In the Hemmingway vein. Except that I am not terribly romantic, nor terribly drunk often enough to be considered - as Hemmingway was and is - a romantic alcoholic. I talk a great deal about substantially little. But I think that you would have picked up on that by now. To lift a term from elsewhere, I am gleefully snarky. At times, too much so for my own good. And modest. And so in summation, ladies and
gentleman of the jury - for we all serve on the Jury of Life and judge one another with each and every passing second - let me say this: I am not a tall, skinny emo boy with glasses who enjoys kitsch. I do not often wear my heart on my sleeve (aside from the obvious net result of death, the stain would be... bloody, to say the least). Which isn't to say that I'm short, fat, nu-metal fan with 20/20 vision. In fact, I'm about 5'10", sometimes wear glasses (though more often contacts), am not exactly skinny, but not really overweight (let's just say average), and I have been known to rock out to emo by way of Weezer, or even The Get Up Kids on occasion. And yet, my patience for Life itself is tested with every passing second, as I impel time itself to tick by faster by the sheer force of my own modest will. I like television, and I watch it often; if only I could watch more than one channel at at time, I could check off "Find Nirvana" from my cosmic to-do list. I do not find television to be a malignant, baneful and pestilent blight on the otherwise scar-free faces of John and Jane Q. Public, but a medium to be enjoyed and at times, treasured. And yet - if you will forgive this impending curve-ball, this plot twist, if you will (and if you will not, well, then please excuse yourself from this particular round of The Game of Life, and make sure to empty your plastic station wagon of pink and blue pegs, and no - you may not make one last spin of the Big Wheel) - I am a nerd. A true Neo-Nerd, of this new breed for this new Millennium. I will tear up the e-asphalt in my e-Mini or e-Vespa with e-Nerd-banners flying. Let no one stand in my way, or I will be forced to slow down, and woe be to him (or her, let's play fair here) that slows down this modest and humble Nerd of a Man. Amen, brothers and sisters, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, children of all ages. A-fucking-men.
-dan
To say that anyone, myself included, could ever actually describe themselves in this little box would be ludicrous. Asinine. Laughable. Inane (incidentally, my thesaurus also recommends “namby-pamby”). For truly, I cannot be contained in this little box, this little e-lectronic box. Even the infinite lanes of the information super-highway are far too constricting for me. And yet... Look out e-traffic and e-motorists, for I am passing on your left and no e-speedtrap shall stop me. I will try now - as much for your benefit as well as my own - to tell you “About Me”. I will call this piece “The Manifesto of Dan”. ... Let us commence. My friends - some of my very best friends, even - some of whom sing such sweet and flowery laudatory praises below, often take great pleasure and satisfaction
in describing me as a “jerk”, or “asshole”. And I gladly accept such monikers - I take pride in all of my accomplishments. As I do not like to disappoint, I take great care to make sure that my friends’ opinions are well-founded. To this end, I do not give up my seat on a crowded bus for anyone, be it an old lady, or an old man. I have a poor self-image, and I fancy myself a romantic alcoholic. In the Hemmingway vein. Except that I am not terribly romantic, nor terribly drunk often enough to be considered - as Hemmingway was and is - a romantic alcoholic. I talk a great deal about substantially little. But I think that you would have picked up on that by now. To lift a term from elsewhere, I am gleefully snarky. At times, too much so for my own good. And modest. And so in summation, ladies and
gentleman of the jury - for we all serve on the Jury of Life and judge one another with each and every passing second - let me say this: I am not a tall, skinny emo boy with glasses who enjoys kitsch. I do not often wear my heart on my sleeve (aside from the obvious net result of death, the stain would be... bloody, to say the least). Which isn't to say that I'm short, fat, nu-metal fan with 20/20 vision. In fact, I'm about 5'10", sometimes wear glasses (though more often contacts), am not exactly skinny, but not really overweight (let's just say average), and I have been known to rock out to emo by way of Weezer, or even The Get Up Kids on occasion. And yet, my patience for Life itself is tested with every passing second, as I impel time itself to tick by faster by the sheer force of my own modest will. I like television, and I watch it often; if only I could watch more than one channel at at time, I could check off "Find Nirvana" from my cosmic to-do list. I do not find television to be a malignant, baneful and pestilent blight on the otherwise scar-free faces of John and Jane Q. Public, but a medium to be enjoyed and at times, treasured. And yet - if you will forgive this impending curve-ball, this plot twist, if you will (and if you will not, well, then please excuse yourself from this particular round of The Game of Life, and make sure to empty your plastic station wagon of pink and blue pegs, and no - you may not make one last spin of the Big Wheel) - I am a nerd. A true Neo-Nerd, of this new breed for this new Millennium. I will tear up the e-asphalt in my e-Mini or e-Vespa with e-Nerd-banners flying. Let no one stand in my way, or I will be forced to slow down, and woe be to him (or her, let's play fair here) that slows down this modest and humble Nerd of a Man. Amen, brothers and sisters, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, children of all ages. A-fucking-men.
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