20 things Panguitch didn't disclose in his profile.
Apr 10 '03 (Updated Sep 02 '08)
The Bottom Line You want to know more about me. You really really do. (Why not pimp yourself a little. It's the internet, after all!)
1) My name is Andy.
I’ll be 26 in June. I’ve hinted to my wife that I want the LEGO Star Wars mini sets for my birthday, thanks to JediKermit’s recent reviews. Dark chocolate and egg nog are my preferred bribes. My greatest weakness is that I forget a person’s name ten seconds after meeting them, and again ten seconds after my wife reminds me of it—amen to Julie and Dave on that point (jsgoddess and hist). Right now I’m reading Howard’s The Essential Conan, Gottfried’s Tristan and Isolde, and Blomberg and Robinson’s How Wide the Divide: A Mormon and Evangelical in Conversaton. Much to Lori’s (drdevience) chagrin, I’ve been unable to find a way to post pics of my posterior within this review. I’ll have to make it up to her by reviewing Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe for her write-off.
2) I have no emotions.
Okay, that may be an exaggeration. But I’ve been called a laconic bump on a log before. Passionless may be a good word. I don’t anger. I don’t get excited. And expressive is a word that’s never been associated with me. Sometimes I pretend to be emotive, just to give the impression that I’m human. Sometimes those around me seem like specimens, not people. I think I observe life and the human condition more than I experience it. However, the older I get, the more integrated I feel.
3) I’m religious, not spiritual.
By most standards I’m devoutly religious. And I consider myself committed. But in comparison to other religious people, I wouldn’t consider myself spiritual, rather, I almost seem numb. And often I feel envious of those who seem to experience spirituality at a more passionate level than me. I think this has a lot to do with the previous point. My relationship with God suffers just as my relationships with people suffer from my emotional introversion. I don’t feel connected to others, divine or mortal, even though I know I am. It’s like my relationship with my parents. If we didn’t see each other at family gatherings I don’t know when we’d ever talk because I’m never inclined to pick up a phone or anything, despite my loving them and loving being with them. I guess I’m the stereotypically reticent male. This is not to say I’m not a believing person. Faith is hugely important to me and I’m able to be honestly sincere when teaching my Sunday school class.
4) I support our troops.
My extended family has a rich military history. I came very close to enlisting. Sgt. Mack, the Marines recruiter, said I was the only person ever to walk into his office wearing combat boots who never enlisted. Why didn’t I? I chose to serve a mission for my church instead. How’s that for an about face? I would have made a good soldier too. I function well in highly organized hierarchies and don’t mind taking orders or living a structured life. I don’t mind giving orders either. And while I’m generally non-violent and even-tempered, point number one above would probably be useful if it came time to pull the trigger.
5) I support the war in Iraq.
The motivations for that support may not be highest on the minds of the administration, but they’re sufficient for me. Read my FNR to know more. Today (now yesterday) when I saw the people of Baghdad feel safe enough to welcome the troops I was ecstatic. Seeing them try to take down Hussein’s statue in the "Saddam" neighborhood, eventually succeeding with the US Marines’ help, was profound. It brought back memories of the Berlin Wall, and even more, of the fall of the USSR. I’ve been in graveyards of Lenin statues. I’ve been in the Vilnius TV Tower where the first casualties of the "bloodless" overthrow of soviet communism took place. As much as I sorrow for the slain US soldiers, and for the dead journalists, and for the suffering civilians, and especially for the hapless Iraqi draftees, I defy anyone to convince me that Iraq’s liberty is not worth the cost. As far as revolutions go, this one has so far come cheap. I pray now that the fighting may quickly end and most importantly that the Iraqis are able to unite under a stable, peaceful, and free government.
6) I’m intimidating. Really, I am.
I’m not a big man. I’m short. Nondescript. Physically unimpressive in every way. Yet I’ve often been told by coworkers and peers (after they get to know me) that I’m intimidating. I won’t deny taking a certain pleasure in this. After all, being short can lead to pettiness. What’s my secret? Talk less than those around you. Adopt a dry sense of humor, together with a usually serious demeanor. People who aren’t friends will often try to alleviate the pressure of dealing with each other by pretending that they are—deflating the situation by shallow chatting and silly humor. When you don’t respond in kind to such overtures, or ever initiate them yourself, your mixed signals will cause them to doubt themselves, leaving you in a dominant position. Another key is when you tell someone to do something do it with full expectation that it will be done. As if the outcome is an unavoidable, natural result of your utterance. Are you buying this?
7) I don’t laugh at my own jokes.
Dryness has deep merit. Deadpan delivery best communicates absurdity. And if your audience wavers for a few seconds in deciding whether you’re serious, they’ll only laugh the harder to make up for their temporary discomfiture. Besides, if you seem only mildly amused by what makes others laugh—even if it’s your own joke—you’ll come off looking smarter, superior. (Is it just me or is the Nietzscheanism of Conan going to my head lately?)
8) I’m not afraid of silence. I’m not afraid to be alone.
If you’ve read this far you won’t be surprised that I’m not a talkative person. I’m less disturbed by pauses in a conversation than most people. And I don’t mind there not being a conversation to begin with. Similarly, I don’t mind being alone. Growing up my friends used to tease me by calling me a hermit. I like to be in the outdoors alone especially, but sitting around working on a project by myself is nice too. I began as a shy person, eventually growing used to the circumstances shyness drove me to. My wife is the exact opposite in both these areas. You can imagine how frustrated she sometimes gets with me.
9) I’m a self-doubter.
I’ve never failed at anything I’ve tried. Although trying to learn to ride a bike at age 12 was challenging. And athletics . . . . Let me qualify that: I’ve never failed at anything I’ve tried that didn’t necessitate hand-eye coordination. Nevertheless I’m always in need of validation, if not worship. I’ve never wholeheartedly believed I’m truly great at anything. This becomes quite the obstacle to maintaining hope in success when I try to pursue my dreams, lately writing. It’s also one reason why I like epinions so much. Even when it is just rubberstamping.
10) I am a Salieri
Ever read Pushkin’s "Mozart and Salieri"? Or watched Shaffer’s Amadeus? Then you might know what I mean when I compare myself to Salieri. As said above, I’ve never failed at anything. However, neither have I ever been the best at anything. I’ve always been the "almost best". God gave me the ability to recognize and appreciate greatness, but not to attain it. I do not hate those who can and do achieve greatness. I hate myself for not being able to do likewise.
11) I have a mammoth fetish.
A couple years ago they tried to salvage a frozen mammoth from the Siberian tundra intact. They hoped to clone it. What was my reaction? I was moved to write what I believe is the best poem I’ve ever produced. My wife recently bought me a plush mammoth for my office. Other obsessions I’ve had have included LEGOs, Dungeons and Dragons (AD&D 1st ed.), and new wave, punk, and "modern rock".
12) I listened to The Smiths too much.
Speaking of which, I think I listened to The Smiths too much during my formative years. Every song memorized. Collected rare singles. Studied Morrissey and Marr’s biographies like the Bible. Saw both Morrissey and The The (with Marr) among the some fifty odd shows I went to while growing up. Identifying yourself with Morrissey cannot bring happiness, or normal romantic relationships. I spent a lot of time quietly infatuated. I think you’d have to know both me and The Smiths well in order to sense the depth of this depravity. For more on the influence of certain bands on my sexuality, see my review of The The’s Mind Bomb.
13) Being strange was a game.
Like just about everyone I know who wasn’t entirely depressed or didn’t have something better to do with their time like sports, art, a job, or chess, I spent most of high school trying to surprise people. I thrived on knowing people were talking about me. Considering the music I liked, I had a ready direction to take in my outlandishness. I shaved my head. I crimped my hair. I drilled holes in the toes of my boots and stuck spikes through them. I wore a dog chain. Spiked rings. Made myself an "I AM THE PRETTY HATE MACHINE" t-shirt. Used a Noah’s ark themed laundry bag for a backpack. Sewed myself bell-bottomed dress pants from my neighbor’s paisley drapes. Wrote awful poetry. Created awful sculptures. Performed Toy Dolls songs in assemblies. Tap-danced in zip-down platform shoes. My friends and I weren’t Goths or skaters or metalheads or neo-hippies or anything. But everyone knew exactly who you were talking about even though no labels fit. It was all a game and we didn’t pretend otherwise. We had fun with our rebellion, and everyone had fun with us. We were strange, but we didn’t take ourselves seriously. I did so many silly things I can only roll my eyes now. But it was a blast and I have a lot of fond nostalgia for those days. I was an outsider, but unlike most insiders, I honestly enjoyed high school. And I have plenty of stories to tell.
14) Regrets
The greatest regret of my life also came during high school (though there’ve been some doozies since). I had a girlfriend who left me for the guy who’d been my best friend since birth. I was vastly bitter and felt betrayed—thanks for setting me up for this one, Morrissey! I made this friend’s life a hell in revenge, driving many of our friends away from him. Our parents, neighbors, even got involved. It was at least a year before we could speak civilly, and we’ve never been able to recover fully from my pettiness.
15) OCD
I’m convinced that most intelligent people exhibit at least slight obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Why do I make such a stink about something like this? Because I have such tendencies and like to think I’m intelligent. While driving I frequently have to check to make sure the windshield wipers are turned off—even though I can see they’re not moving. Every switch on the dashboard needs to be checked periodically to make sure it’s still in the right spot. When I was young I would sit and stare at cupboards or brick walls, repetitively counting handles, corners, hinges. Assessing patterns in the textures and organizations. My wife can time my morning and bedtime routines to the minute. The volume on my stereo can only rest on certain numbers. Sometimes I can’t bear not reaching out and touching something that’s grabbed my interest. And I have to touch it three times. Or more. Until I "feel" I’ve arrived at some proper number where I can stop without unbalancing the universe. Thankfully, most of these habits have faded as I’ve aged.
16) Daydreaming
Because of point 8 I often find myself in quiet solitude. Let me here and now affirm Seinfeld’s correctness when he points out that men truly are thinking nothing when women ask them what they’re thinking. I spent a large part of my childhood daydreaming, sometimes simply laying in the backyard staring at the sky. Moving out of the parent’s house has cut down significantly on this valuable "me" time, as has marrying and having kids of my own. While I no longer go on long drives up the canyons in the middle of the night, and rarely get to hike a mountain by myself, I’ve just found another opportunity. My son can’t stand to be indoors. Now that it’s warm we can go to the park and I can daydream while I follow him around.
17) My heritage
I’m Anglo-Austrian, but I only feel close to more recent generations. My ancestors were evicted from the United States by the violent persecutions of Mormon-haters. Ironically, their settlement of the mountain west coincided with the US-Mexican War and they found themselves back in the States. Which is fine because they hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place. I come from farming stock, and spent my summers in cherry orchards. I’m very close to my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. None of my brothers and sisters and their families live more than 60 miles away and we all get together with my parents once or twice a month. This closeness is something I cherish above all else save my own little family. I have my mother’s temperament but I’m becoming more like my father every year. I had to graduate from being a teenager before I could realize that’s not a bad thing.
18) My family
I’m in love with my wife. She’s the only person I can stand to be around for extended periods of time (and who can stand to be around me) so I’m glad she found me. My son, Aleksandr (he may hate me for that spelling later), is a 22 month-old genius. His happiness is contagious and I like being his best friend. My daughter, Sofia, is a beautiful girl. She’s like the babies on commercials, perfect in her smiling roundness. I’m very happy and realize point number 1 is false. I’m just extremely laid-back.
19) I can argue.
In fourth grade, living in Hong Kong at the time, I wrote an essay about my greatest strength being that I could see both sides of an argument. The example I used was the Cold War tension between the US and the USSR—eerily foreshadowing my later attachment to former Soviet republics. Since then I’ve gained the ability to argue both sides. And I do it pretty well. Usually just for enjoyment. Central to my theory of language is that there is no truth or factualness in language, only ambiguity. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. One thing it means is that on most issues you can come up with whatever conclusion you want. The conclusions you pick usually tell more about you than they do about the issue itself. The fact that I don’t believe language is a good vehicle (but it may be the best, which isn’t a contradiction) for finding or expressing truth, or for convincing another person of truth, helps me avoid taking or giving offense.
20) I don’t bruise easily.
Of course, sometimes words just don’t cut it. I’ve never successfully started a fight (there’s a story or two in that statement), and only once have chosen to fight back when attacked. So I’ve been beaten up a few times. Most often by disaffected Russian youths—though I’m proud to say they never got any money from me. Lucky for me, I don’t bruise easily and I have a thick skull. Still, there’s nothing I hate more than that jittery adrenaline feeling you’re left with, and the way it comes back to you years later on a night when you’re suffering from insomnia and you start wondering what would have happened if you’d only . . .
Bonus: 21) The Animals will damn me.
I believe all of creation has a spiritual side, and that animals have eternal souls just as much as people. This is a bad thing. Because there’s quite a few of them that might be waiting for me at the judgment bar. Potato bugs (a.k.a. rolly-pollies) that I built LEGO mazes for, complete with deadly traps. Rattlesnakes I hunted with blowguns. Birds I shot. Cats I kicked. Cats whose eyes I threw cement in. Ants I coerced into inter-hill warfare. And grasshoppers. Grasshoppers I fed to spiders, praying mantises. Grasshoppers I strapped to fireworks. Grasshoppers I left to cook in improvised greenhouses. Magnifying glasses. Matches. Grasshoppers I induced into boxing matches where the victor chews off the defeated’s face. Grasshoppers I crucified with dry pine needles.
I’ve repented of my childhood cruelty. I’m no poster-boy for PETA, but I try not to step on bugs anymore. Still, I’m not looking forward to facing my victims when I’m held to account.
Parting Shots
I’ve found I have something in common with many of my fellow epinionators. We have a high opinion of our opinions. We’re confident they’re authoritative, deserving of heed. We’ve come to think we know everything about any given topic. I guess what sets me apart in thinking this is that I’m right. (How’s that for dry?)
- Panguitch
Thanks to corpgent for this wonderful idea which has leeched more of my time than epinions usually does. Read about the write-off here: http://www.epinions.com/content_3202850948
And thanks to all the wonderful friends and acquaintances that make epinions an enjoyable part of my life!
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Epinions.com ID:
panguitch
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Location: Springville, UT
Reviews written: 285
Trusted by: 224 members
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"Realism is quite incapable of describing the complexity of contemporary experience." -Ursula K. Le Guin
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