Interview with an iMark

Quoth rAdam:

From my "Drafts Begun Nearly Five Months Ago But Forgotten Since" file (used to be "It's Too Quiet 'Round Here Lately" file), the following:

http://rightwingnews.com/interviews/steyn.php

In reading the interview with this fellow, I am forced to wonder if the world isn't being presented with a rather poor sample of what the world has to offer in terms of people named Mark Steyn. To enrich that sample, I would like to propose that the Extended Endz list's very own Mark Steyn be interviewed in an entirely dissimilar fashion to that of the above-mentioned article. Now, as for who should conduct the interview, any voluntee-OkayI'lldoit.

Mark, if you would be so kind as to respond and include the questions with your reply, please? Thank you so very much.

How could I possibly say no? I didn't. Instead I just decided to delay for a reaaaally long time. But all things reach an ending, even procrastination, so here we go:

To begin: How's your back?

Behind me, where it should be. Actually I was slightly curious as to why you asked this question. My back has rarely given me any trouble (well, save for that one incident when I did myself a nasty turn whilst hefting an orthopedic chair up a flight of stairs), so I was wondering what brought it to your mind.

How many vests do you own?

I believe this translates into waistcoats for we Brits. Um, four, but two of them are identical. I've gone through a procession of black paisley waistcoats, but the last of them recently gave up the ghost and I've been unable to replace it :(

Disney: fetish or obsession? Defend your answer.

I'll go for obession, since if it's a fetish that would mean...

I'm sorry, my mind temporarily shut down there in an act of self preservation. Where was I? Oh yes, obsession may be a little strong a term, but I'll run with it anyway. The honest and truthful answer (at this given point in time) is that I have a tremendous admiration for Disney (Walt that is, rather than the company) as one of the 20th centuries great storytellers. Storytellers and stories have always held a great appeal for me, and I grew up in the shadow of Disney's legacy, which frighteningly enough was less pervasive in my youth than it is for children today. It was a fascinating legacy to behold, and produced a culture that was interesting to be a part of.

Or something like that...

Do you dress up for Halloween? If so, what was your best ever Halloween costume?

Alas I've never really had the opportunity to dress for Halloween. I'd like to though. Hey Mija, when are you going to have a Halloween party? And can I come?

If "snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails" are what little boys are made of, and little girls are made of "sugar and spice and everything nice", what would be produced by the following formula : peas and skis
and CAPS LOCK keys?

That's what little iMarks are made of. How did you find out? The recipe's supposed to be a secret. I guess I'll have to kill you now...

What prospects does an ex-nemesis face in today's market?

Lest this seem like a completely random question, I should explain: several years back I was bored and so declared myself rAdams Nemesis. In this capacity I have since dedicated my very being to bringing about rAdams untimely end. It passes the time.

As for the prospects of an ex-nemesis - I wouldn't know. I've been very active nemesis lately, and have considerable standing in the nemesis community. True that you may not have witnessed the fruits of my secret activies recently, but that's only because I've decided to trade short term plotting for more serious long terms gains. Trust me, when you see what I've been up to you'll be impressed. Of course, you won't actually get much of a chance to see what I've been up to before... ah, now that would be telling.

Sandwiches: toasted bread or untoasted?

Both have their places. It largely depends what you're putting on them. For anything cheese related, I'd probably veer towards toasted, otherwise I think untoasted is probably on the menu. At the end of the day it's rather like trying to choose between food and more food (actually, it's exactly like that). Which would you prefer?

Are you going to eat that? (Sorry. Off-topic. Forget it)

Actually, I've procrastinated for so long I'm afraid it's gone a little green. You can have it.

From among the following, who has done the most good for world perceptions of the culture and people of Scotland: Mel Gibson, Liam Neeson, or the Adrian Paul/Christopher Lambert gestaltoid?

I'll go with with the Frenchman, since I like Highlander the best out of all three films. It also has the prettiest scenery (very subjective that I know) as well as Sir Sean, who's done an admirably job promoting Scotland over the years (even if I did cringe a little during his Oscar introduciton this year). Alas Highlander the series was condemned to wander the nether regions of the tv schedules over here, flitting about from timeslot to timeslot with neither rhyme nor reason, so I stopped following it after a while. Good fun whilst it was on though.

In your opinion, who would win in a duel, Zorro or the Man in Black
(a.k.a. the Dread Pirate Roberts, ne' Wesley)?

You know, there's only one way I can think to answer this question. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

----

Atop the Cliffs of Insanity a man is pacing back and forth impatiently. Stepping back from the edge he unsheaths his sword and parries against an invisible assailant. The blade gleams bright in the late afternoon sun. The man grunts, satisfied, and in a flash the sword is sheathed once more. He is waiting. He is a long way from home and this land, these cliffs are strange to him. Stepping up the the edge of the cliff he gazes down at the drop below and watches the waves. Curious, he picks up a pebble and throws it down into the sea, counting gently under his breath as it falls until finally it disappears into the churning waters. A thousand feet or more he reckons rightly. He looked down again, shaking his head at what he sees. It doesn't seem possible. A thousand feet. It can't be possible. A thousand feet - no man could attempt such a climb unaided. And yet what started as a black speck below him some half hour ago has grown larger with every passing minute. No speck now, but a man. Perhaps fifty feet down, a man dressed entirely in black is slowly edging inch by inch towards the top of the cliff. The atop the cliff observes the man below, studying his movements, trying to determine what sort of opponent he will face. The man in black has climbed a thousand feat. He has strength, the Spaniard knows that much. But there's grace to his movements too, and he climbs with care and patience. He may yet prove a worthy opponent... if he ever reaches the top! The man in blacks climbing has slowed. He is tiring and the man above can wait no longer for his sport.

  "Hello there." he called out to the man in black, his accent tinged with memories of a life in Spain.
   "I'm afraid I'm a little busy at the moment," replied the man in black, not glancing up, "I'd prefer not to be distracted right now."
  "Sorry," replied Spaniard atop the cliff, this unexpected rebuffed distracting him from his impatience. He moved back from the edge, idly drumming his fingers on his scabbard. Again his sword sliced through the air as he furiously defends himself against his unseen opponent. Victorious, his sword is sheathed once more. It is a hollow victory. He flexes his fingers and grasps his sword once more. He had been too long without an opponent worthy of his skills and can scarce wait for the man in black to reach him. He ran back to the cliff top.

   "You couldn't hurry things up a bit, could you?" he called out.
   "Look, if you want to be of some help, " said the man in black, an edge of anger rising in his voice, "perhaps you might consider throwing down a rope, otherwise I work best in silence"
   "I could do that, " the man above agreed, "but I don't think you'd accept my help, since I'm only waiting up here to kill you."
  "That does put a bit of a damper on our relationship, " the man in black said then. "That being the case, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

The man in black continued to climb, painfully inching his way onwards.

  "It's nothing personal, I promise you. If I help you I swear you will reach the top unharmed. I give you my word as a Spaniard," said the Spaniard.
  "I do not know you well enough to trust your oath," replied the man in black, "and I've know too many Spaniards."
  "Then," said the Spaniard solemnly, his voice dropping to a whisper, " I swear on the heart of Elana. The woman I love more than anything, or anyone. More than my own life."
  "Love, you say?" The man in black paused. For the first time he looked up. "How true is this love of yours?"
  "I do not know how love feels for other men, and I have known no other love myself. But I know this: each day I live now, I live for her. And no man or no army will do Elana harm as I long as I live to hold a sword."
  "Throw down your rope."

The Spaniard secured one end of the rope around a rock and lowered the other down. The man in black grabbed hold and released his gripped on the cliff. He swung back over nothingness and then the Spaniard began to pull. In moments the man in black was near the top and the Spaniard offered his hand and pulled him atop the cliffs. At last, the two men stood before one another. Each eyed his opponent. The man in black was clothed entirely in black, a leather mask covering most of his face. The Spaniard was clothed entirely in black, a leather mask covering his face.

  "Ah." Said the man in black.
  "Oh." Said the Spaniard.

  "This could get terribly confusing," said the man in black. "Look, you're not about to tell me that you're The Dread Pirate Roberts are you? Because no-one told me I'd signed up for a franchise."
  "My name is Zorro," replied Zorro.
   "And I am The Dread Pirate Roberts, plunderer or Florin, bane of Guilder and scourge of the Eight Seas for over thirty years."
  "Thirty years, but you don't look..."
   "It's a long story," interrupted the man in black, "but please, call me Westley. Now, something seems to have gone rather wrong here. You're not the Spaniard I was looking for. Where is the other man, the one in service to the dwarf Vizinni?"
  "I know of no dwarves, " explained Zorro. "I passed by only a short while ago, to find one of my fellow countrymen waiting here. He held a sword unlike any other I'd ever seen. I asked about it and he told me it was crafted by his father, a master swordmaker if I am any judge, for a six fingered man. I remarked upon that strange coincidence, since I had recently beheld a six fingered man, an unpleasant fellow too, not two days ride north from here. My newfound friend seemed electried by this news and demanded I tell him all that I knew. When I had finished, he told me his story. His name was Inigo Montoya. The six fingered man had killed his father many years ago and since then he had spent his life seeking vengence. But no matter how Inigo seached, the six fingered man was never to be found and Inigo had all but given up. Having heard my news Inigo started off immediately, to finish what he had started all those years ago, but he stopped and ran back to the cliffs. He told me he was sworn to stop the man who was climbing before he could leave. I looked in his eyes and saw how much his father had meant to him. I told him that I would take his place. That I would stop you. I gave him my oath."

Zorro took a step back and took his sword in his hand. "I think you have rested long enough now. I do not know you well, so I will give you this choice: Turn around now, go back the way you came and I shall not follow. Or else, stay and feel my blade. You have climbed a thousand feet and I have met no man who could be best me at his fittest. I cannot let you pass, and though I look forward to a challenge, in truth I do not want to kill you."
   "And in truth I do not want to die. What say we just forget about this whole business and go our seperate ways like civilised people." Westley moved towards the path leading away from the cliffs. In the blink of an eye, the Spaniard's sword blocked his way.
  "I gave him my oath," repeated Zorro.
  "That's all very interesting, " said the Westley, "but I really don't have time for this right now." With that he darted once more towards the path. Again the Spaniards sword was in his path. But this time steel was met with steel. Zorro blinked, he had not seen the man in black reach for his sword.
  "You do not seem so tired now," grinned Zorro. "Perhaps this may be a challenge after all. Begin!"

Lightly the two men touched their swords together and slowly began to circle one another. Neither took his eyes off the other. Then, in a blur of movement each man lunged towards the other and the battle was met with furious energy.

There are tales told in these times of the last of the great swordsman, a Corsican who achieved the rank of Wizard in years long past. Since then there have been few men who have dared lay claim to such a title. And none who deserved it... until this day. Neither man fighting here today would have bested that Wizard. But I tell you this, neither would the Wizard have bested either man.

At first neither Zorro nor Westley appeared to have the advantage as the battle was waged through clearing, scree and thicket. But in the narrow confines of the woods near the path, Zorro finally sensed a weakness in his opponents attacks. Without hesitation, he redoubled his efforts. Westley, parried valiantly, but Zorro lay on relentlessly until an opening appeared in his oppenents defence. Seizing up it Zorro lunged forward and drew first blood. Though wounded, Westley neither panicked nor retreated. Zorro smiled at his opponents mettle but, assured of his victory, he continued to press his attack. With each thrust of his sword, he forced the other man in black ever closer towards the edge of the Cliffs until finally Westley could retreat no further. With defeat threatening the Westley held up his hand, indicating that he wished to speak.

  "You are very good," said Westley.
  "Thank you," answered Zorro, "I have worked hard to become so."
  "And you are indeed better than I am," Westley admitted.
  "So it seems. But if that is true, then why are you smiling."
  "Because, " Westley replied, "I know something you don't know"
  "And what is that?" asked Zorro.
  "I am not left handed." And with that, Westley deftly switched his sword to his right hand and threw himself into the battle once more.

Zorro had thought Westly an masterful swordsman before, perhaps second only to himself, but now the tide had truly turned. Westley's blows rained down upon him fast and furious and it was all he could do to defend himself. Every opening he found for attack was blocked, almost without effort. Every hope for retreat or regrouping was dashed. Weslty betrayed no anger or malice with his movement, only icy calm and expert skill. Zorro realised that Westley was carefully, methodically maneuvering him towards the same rocky cliff face against which he had ensared Westly only moments before. Moments! Never had Zorro witnessed the balance of a fight turn so swiftly. His feet were now inches from the edge. With no recourse left, now Zorro now raised his hand. Westley paused.

  "It seems you are you are the better swordsman," said Zorro, humbled.
  "Thank you," replied Westley, "it has not come without effort. But should that be the case, why now are you smiling. Are you not left handed also?"
  "On the contrary, I am indeed left handed."
  "Then you smile because...?"

Westley felt a sharp point press into his back.

  "I believe what my impetuous young friend is trying to say," came a voice behind him, "is that he did not come alone. Please, lay down your sword, and turn around. Slowly."

Westley did as the mysterious voice commanded and found himself face to face with a man dressed entirely in black. His eyes were bright through the leather mask that covered most of his face, and behind a grey wisp of beard was perhaps the smallest hint of a smile.

  "I say now, " said Westley, "I know I'd hoped to spark a trend, but this is becoming ridiculous." Westley fixed his eye on this new interloper. "Dread Pirate Roberts?" he asked, hopefully.
   "Zorro," replied the man in black, bowing his head slightly.
   "I suspected as much," sighed Westley.

The older man motioned for him to be quiet and instead focused his attentions on the younger Zorro. "What happened?" he asked. " I leave you alone for an hour, come back and find your dueling your doppelganger?"
  "I think you'll find that's he's doppelganger, " Westley interjected "after all, I've had been wearing this outfit for over thirty years."
  "Thirty years? But you don't look..."
   "It's a long story," interrupted Westley. As the two Zorro's turned to face each other Westley elegantly somersaulted backwards, grasping his own sword once and at the same time escaping the point of the elder Zorros blade.
  "I fear we have reached an impass," he said. "Your young friend here is a marvellous swordsman, but brash, and on his own no match for me. And you, old man, to sneak up upon me is a worthy feat indeed, so I must assume that you have guile and wit about you, qualities which I assure you I can match. And I can see you are master with a blade also. Between us we are matched equally."
  "I see," replied the old man thoughtfully. "How do you propose to end this stalemate?"
  "My only desire is to continue my journey. Someone precious has been taken from me and I will stop at nothing to be at her side once more. I fight for Love."
  "For love?" mocked the old man, "I've watched drunkards in gutters claim to fight for love. Why should I trust your claims?"
  "Gentlemen, you do not understand my plight. I do not fight for mere love, of the sort traded like trinkets in market stalls. I fight for Love, True Love. Love the kind of which is seen but once in a thousand years."
  "True love?" the old man down, lost in thought . After a moment he motioned for the younger Zorro to come forward. The old man rested his hands upon his young friends shoulders, shook his head sadly and then quickly hit the young man about the side of the head.
   "What have I told you about leaping in before you look?"
  "But my oath?"
  "Your oath? Ha! You and your damned oaths. Last month you swore an oath after that waiter dropped a bowl of stew in your lap."
  "That's true but the circumstances were..."
  "And the week before that you sworn an oath against the dwarf you tripped over when you weren't paying attention."
   "Ok, so that may have been a mistake, but dwarfs are very upsetting and..."
   "And before that you..."
  "Ok, alright. I get it enough." The young man turned to Westley. "I renounce my oath, " he said, "go, find your love."

And with that Westley gave a graceful bow, sheathed his sword and, picking up the Sicilians trail, raced into the night. As he disappeared into the darkness, he fancied he could the voice of the older of the two strange masked men behind him.
  "Now, give me that damned map back. Left turn at Albuquerque indeed! Ha..."

----

Personally I think Westley could have taken the pair of them. Love conquers all, don't you know.

Nevertheless, one of the things I've recently learned is that a swordfight is a tremendously difficulty thing to write and so I proffer my sincerest apologies and admiration to William Goldman.

Do you consider chocolate milk to be a 'cop-out'?

No I consider it to be an evil substance coughed up from the bowels of satan himself (explains the colour). Just say no, kids, it's a waste of perfectly good milk.

If you could acquire any super power (that you do not currently
possess), how would you acquire it?

Let's see now. Being the last survivor of a dead world is a little bit too tragic for me. As is turning into a vengence seeking creature of the night following the murder of my loved ones. Being bitten by a radioactive arachnid has some merits, but then I don't like spiders, so I think I'd have to rule that out too. Giving up my humanity to traverse the skyways of the universe in service to a planet devouring demi-god could be fun, but I hear that demi-gods aren't exactly a barrel of laughs. Nor are Himalayan mystics, so I don't think I'll be studying with any of those anytime soon. Narrowly surviving a massive nuclear explosion is always an option, but if you get the timing wrong you're toast, quite literally. Similarly I don't think any I'd survive any of usual methods of aquiring powers that involves explosions or conflagrations of any kind. I could spend a few years stranded on a tropical island honing my survival skills, but again I don't think the lack of company would suit me. Being bombarded by cosmic radiation whilst in outer space appeals, since I like the notion of space travel, but I don't think I meet NASA's rather stringent requirements. Being gifted with a magic word to transform myself into a being of great wisdom and power doesn't appear to have too many downsides, although there is a potential risk of waking up one day to find out that your life has been nothing more than a fantasy played out as part of the machinations of an evil scientist. I could always develop a suit of armour, or a weapon/device of incredible power, but that would probably take years of research, and quite a bit of money too - as would trying to create a stable white dwarf star in a lab. Being struck by lightning whilst covered in a chemical soup is remarkably difficult to arrange, and inhaling hard water fumes is unlikely to do much for me. I also seem to have failed to inherit any special abilities (beyond those already noted) from my parents, which rules out a whole heap of mutations and I'm quite certain there aren't any mages or wizards in my lineage. I haven't tried merging personalities with anyone, and truth be told, I don't see much good coming from that even if I tried. Being gifted with powers or incredible weapons/devices by alien beings always seems to be accompanied by the catch of having to play galactic/universal policeman which is just a little too much responsibility for me to deal with. I don't trust the army or governments or anyone else to inject me with anything (well would you?) and I also think we can safely rule out demonic possession. Discovering that my personality is nothing more than a shell created to house a godling as a bizarre form of punishment would come as something of a blow. I think we can take it as read that current cloning techniques aren't sufficient to have cloned me from anyone else with powers.

Ah, I know, I'll gain my powers through Myarian alchemy! Seems only fitting, even if it is an extremely obscure reference :)

Now, rAdam, how many heroes can you find who fit the above origins? Bonus points for villians

Any words of advice for aspiring Mark Steyns out there?

Come, my brethren. Too long have we waited in the darkness whilst those with inferior names have risen to positions of power. No longer can we idly stand by and let this continue. Join me, my friends. Together we can rise up and destroy these interlopers. Together we can shape the world anew in our image! Mark Steyns of the world unite!!

England: would you say it "...swings like a pendulum do"? If not, why would Roger Miller lie about a thing like that?

Well, I pulled the country back, released it and it didn't seem to do anything, so Roger appears to be telling porkies. As to why he'd do such a thing I don't know. I'm loath to believe ill of someone I've never had any dealings with, so I think I'll simply believe of him that he was mistaken about this.

Excerpt from Agence France-Presse article, Nov. 21, 2002 :

"SLOUGH, England - Britain's Princess Anne pleaded guilty in magistrates court on Thursday to a charge under the Dangerous Dog Act, after one of her pets bit two children in Windsor Great Park last April. It was the first court appearance by a British royal to answer a criminal charge since the 17th century, when King Charles I was tried for treason and executed at the end of the English Civil War."

What does this say about today's royalty and their pets, as compared to those of 17th century Britain? Have you, personally, ever been mistreated by the pets of royalty?

Personally I believe this says more about Slough than it does about the British Royal family, who I like to fondly think of as being barking mad... until I remember my own family. I've never personally met any of the royal pets, but I do like to think I'd get on rather well with them, since I generally have a good rapport with animals. The corgis could be a bit stuck up though.

And, finally: If _______ is, in fact, _______ to _______ _______, how will that affect you personally? (a sort of Mad-Libs, make-your-own question; please include the completed question as well as your answer)

If God is, in fact, trying to destroy you, how will that affect you personally?

I believe that's utter stuff and nonsense, and that... whoah... that lightning strike was close...

Once again, thank you for your time.

Oh no, thank you for your time. Especially since I ended up taking rather a lot of it. 'Twere a pleasure anyway.

ttfn