All right, this operates on the inverse of the basic principle of the other award -- that is, tell six truths and one lie, rather than six lies and one truth. There is only one other stipulation: You have to be weird. Not necessarily crazy, someone-get-her-in-a-padded-cell weird, but not normal. Eccentric. Daft. Whatever you want to call it. Point is you can't say something like "I can't cook bacon" because I'm sure there are plenty of people who can't cook bacon. Things like the fact that I can't cook bacon without somehow setting things on fire totally count, though. As with the last one, I'm not passing this on to anyone in particular, so if you feel so inclined, go ahead and join in this with me.
1. When I was seven, my cousin Dan and I took the feathers off of geese my uncle had mounted on his bedroom wall and proceeded to glue them onto our arms in the hopes that we could fly from his roof. He managed to leap onto a nearby branch and was disappointed that the tree got in his way. I couldn't jump far enough and, very fortunately, landed in a deep snowbank.
2. Perhaps not eccentric, per se, but in my first He-Man competition for scouts, on the first day we were allowed to split up into whatever groups we wanted, and we were to build our own shelters. One group took down two trees and used a lot of branches to make a makeshift lean-to which they made improvements upon the next day. For myself, I spent the whole of the afternoon everyone was building their makeshift shelters, and a good chunk of the night, binding branches together with twine and thatching to make a circular roof, which was carefully strung to four trees which had boxed in a big, thick central tree. The next day I spent the better part of the day, putting up makeshift walls creating six divisions, with gaps between in the walls so people could move freely, with the intention of it becoming a shelter for everyone. In the end, only myself and seven friends wound up staying in it, but it sure was a fun build, and to this day I am saddened by the thought that I had to tear it down a week after it had gone up.
3. When I was younger, friends and I built a rather-more-literal soapbox car with a makeshift sail and used it to race along the local train tracks. We never went very far, just following the stations that lined the local towns, in a big circle, and the moment we even thought we heard a train, you can bet we got out of there ASAP -- always careful to carry our trusty vehicle to safety, of course.
4. On one of my many trips to visit friends who live in the UK, my friend Kath and I "borrowed" two my friend Rhona's horses and rode for twenty-eight hours near on end across the Lowlands. Why? What reason is needed beyond we could and we felt like it? God. You act like there's something wrong with that.
5. Regarding firstborns: If it be a son, I intend to name him Alphonse. If it be a daughter, I intend to name her Reinette. Both shall be told lies as to from whence their names come, particularly the daughter. Brownie points if you can guess from whence I have taken these names.
6. Friends and I once tied our trunks to the front of dog sleds and went racing down a rather large hill and across a frozen pond during a camping trip in December, letting gravity & the momentum do the pulling for us. The sled I was a part of won, but about halfway through our gloating the ice started to give. In reality, it was just a lot of scrambling to get away, but I like to think it looked a lot like that scene in King Arthur, only, y'know, without all the Saxons shooting us with crossbows.
7. My friend Clint and I took a pair of electric guitars to a wave pool to use as surfboards once. We got kicked out of the water park after three runs.
So, think you can spot the lie? Also, remember, this is still on the table, folks.