Ok, you asked for it. Here's the clip of me on Touched By An Angel.

I admit now, having watched it again for the first time in almost ten years, that my reaction is not as dramatic as I recall it being. It seems now that my "what the hell?" take was not much more than an overacted shrug. Though I do recall clearly doing a "what the hell?" version of the scene, I guess it was not what made it into the final version.

Also, It was not the old lady who interrupted the ceremony. As you'll see, it was Roma Downey who pissed on the festivities with a dove-delivered message straight from Gawd Himself. I wonder if he signed it Himself or if he used an autopen. Linda Kelsey was the actress having trouble with her very short line... the one about the gas company.

In our final installment of The Marathon Of Weird, I take you back to the days of yesteryear. Way back to 1996.

In November of that year, I appeared as an extra on the hit CBS show, Touched By An Angel. Hey, don't judge me. As an aspiring young actor living in Salt Lake City one did what one had to do.

My big break... Episode #308, "Something Blue". The entire episode revolved around the events on the day of a big wedding.

Even weirder than the squinkie pinkie toe with the broken nail, even weirder than the complete compulsion to share the details of the lives of relatives to people who have never met them and weirder than the inability to buy anything more than the least expensive of anything... ever... there is one weirdest thing I inherited from my mother.

If I stop talking, just like my mother, my heart will stop. As a result, I talk, pretty well constantly. All the time. What I mean is.... always. There are plenty of times when it would be better to keep my mouth closed and enjoy the moment. Do I? Nope. too much to say, not enough time to say it.

Perhaps I'm just dim enough to not be able to pay attention to what others have to say but I just can't manage to realize that someone else may have something else to say.

Have you ever wanted to see me vomit? No, seriously. There's an easy way. Feed me peas.

I can't figure out if this is some kind of odd allergy or simply a mental thing but peas are, without a doubt, the worst food on the planet.

I have an early memory of peas and throwing up. My brother and I were attending the Adventureland Daycare and Pre-School. The walls of which I spent a fair amount of time licking while I stood with my nose in the corner.

As I write this, the house is filled with the sound of proof of my next weirdness. The phone is ringing but I'm not answering. Lot's of people hate talking on the phone, that's nothing unique or strange.

What makes me weird is that I simply do not answer the phone. Even at work, I usually let the voice mail screen my calls. The reason is simple. I hate my clients and think they are all stupid. Well, not all, but a high enough percentage that I don't dare risk the odds.

At home is another story. At home no one ever calls for me. I have a wife, a mother and four daughters living at my home. The home phone is never for me and I'm simply just not nice enough to want to take messages from, say, my daughter's LDS Young Women's advisor about the trip to the Temple to baptize dead Jews. "Make sure she doesn't wear colored panties!" Sheesh, enough with the underwear fetish, Mormons.

I'm not above telling you. I like public restrooms. I'm not weirded out by sitting on a public seat and I don't have any trouble touching the handle. Oh, sure, I wash my hands right after and I don't have any interest in sitting in anyone else's filth but really, for the most part, I find the bathroom to be a safe place.

I say that because, at one point, I had a bad habit of passing out in new or stressful places. It started out as just doctors' offices and dentists but eventually I was passing out at amusement parks, clients' offices, ski lifts and other much less convenient places. After a while I found that I felt a little better if I took a moment to catch my breath and gather my wits before submerging myself in the new environment.

Now, as a habit, when visiting a client or taking the kids to the emergency room, I will excuse myself to the restroom. During my trip, I plan my escape route. If I know where the bathroom is, I always have a safe place to go in case the room starts to get dark and spinny.

Though I mentioned this, very briefly, in passing the other day, it is weird enough to kick off the Marathon of Weird.

I can speak backwards. One friend and I do it so fluently that we regularly slip in and out of backspeak without noticing. We started doing it sometime around 1987 or so.

This all started when a few of us got the bright idea that we wanted to be able to talk to each other about girls without the girls in our Mormon ward knowing what we were saying. It doesn't take much thinking to understand now why I never developed any skill for speaking to women in a way that they could understand.

Regular reader, poster and masturbator (I'm only playing the odds on that last one. I have no actual first-ahem-hand knowledge of anything specifically), Sideon "tagged" me over on his blog. In case you aren't familiar with tagging, allow me to explain.

Basically, tagging is like a chain letter... only worse. Worse because not only are you expected to forward the tag onto others or your toenails will fall off or something, but you also have to do something too. In this case, name six weird things about myself.

Pff... only six? Have you been reading my blog long?