Meme Quiz, Dancin' With the One What Broughtcha Edition

Jill over at Brilliant at Breakfast tagged me with the Meme Quiz. It's traveled up, down and all around, and become a moody thing. I'm struck by how differently I might've responded on a crappier day or if I'd just gotten off the phone with the single-minded Miss Sasha.


If I could be a scientist: I'd be Nicolo Tesla, ball of lightning in his right hand and hellfire in his eyes. Power, he thought, belonged in the hands the people, not the corporations and robber barons.

If I could be a musician: I'd be Dinah Washington, the bad girl's bad girl. You'd cross a dark city to see me, and my every note would be worth the journey. You bring to me what you do, and I come to you, breathy, sexual and sure, through smoke and booze and neon, and you'll abandon reason and daylight, and wake up in an alley with a smile on your face and a melody on your lips.

If I could be a doctor: I would explain a few things to Bill Frist. Publicly. Not that most college kids with a pamphlet couldn't make quick work of it.

If I could be a painter: I would paint numbers on the air so you see why I can't rearrange them in forms so pedestrian as adding and subtracting. I would paint light in whorling, melodic shapes so you finally see music for yourself. I would paint you aromas and flavors, and scatter them on breezes so pineapples fall gently on Ethiopian plains and apples waft over Madagascar.

If I could be an innkeeper: I would make up your bed with crazy quilts and stars on your ceiling and feathers over the vanity. Your nightlight reminds you of a song. In your dreams, you laugh and laugh. For breakfast, you find blood orange juice and warm butter and brioche on a tray outside your door and the scent of clean linen in the hallway.

To pass on this Rorschach test, I'm tagging Rosebud at such stuff, ae at Arse Poetica, and Alice at Alice In the Altered States.

Why? Because lightning doesn't just come in balls.