I am many things. Dashing. Hilarious. Always right. Probably manic. And, I’m told, possibly retarded – all wrapped within an oft-questioned sexuality and facade of glorious courage. What I am not, and never have been, is an interviewer. It’s never really been on the list of things I’ve wanted to do with my life. I want to meet awesome famous people, but I have no questions. Everything I want to know about them I can either already find on the Internet or they don’t wish to divulge.
What I suppose I’m getting at is the fact that all of my questions for Metroid Metal were written around six in the morning (granted, so are these journals, but at the time I was getting to bed around five in the morning, rather than the current 7 or 8 or 9 or the occasional two-hour power nap around noon. This didn’t bother me. It’s an interview. We’ll be sitting in a room, and we can be awkward and weird and spend more time getting reactions than answers.
Well, that was not exactly how this works out. Okay, so it’s less of an organized sit-down one-on-one as much as it’s a find the person and hope they have time to talk to you… thing. That’s fine, CK’s got it all control, maybe. And hey, we’re still doing these interviews as a team, so I’ll have time to look down and pick a good question that should go next, and we can riff off of each other and make this entertaining.
Oh, but now I’m on my own.
Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck. Okay. Now I’m terrified.