SixApart (the creators of Movable Type and TypePad, and owners of LiveJournal) have a new, more "social" (in the Web 2.0 sense) service called "Vox".

Unfortunately, it's not open to the public yet for creating actual blogs. We can, however, read the posts created by the lucky few invitees.

One nice feature is the Question of the Day, a straightforward meme that walks that fine line between breaking writer's block and posting nonsense for its own sake ("What flavor Frappucino are you?").

So, I'll start with what appears to be today's question, and some blogger-suggested ideas.

The most embarrassing CD I own ...
I own Van Halen's 1984. It's a great guilty pleasure disc, if I only listen to three songs ("Hot for Teacher", "Panama" and "Jump", as if you had to ask.) I cannot believe they were the biggest band in the world, at one time; "1984" was second only to Michael Jackson's "Thriller" in albums sold that year.

As a child, did you ever wish you had a different name, maybe a name you wish your parents had chosen?
Yes, I did, in two senses. First, I went from "Joey" to "Joe" (as in "I'm a man, not a boy") when I hit puberty. I generally go by "Joe" now, in all contexts, but the "Joey" doesn't grate on my nerves.

More interestingly, I contemplated ditching the name entirely. I got assigned the name "Leo" in French class and, for some reason, really liked it. It's concise. Only one letter is different. And lions are cool. I even went so far as to tell some younger kids, who moved into a house down the block, that my name actually was Leo.

Much to my chagrin, my brother Dan came home one day and said, "Hey, those kids down the street think your name is Cleo."
"What?"
"Cleo."
"I don't know what you're talking about."

Cleo! As in "Miss" or "-patra".

WTF?

That experiment didn't last long.

What's the worst present you ever received?
My mom, bless her heart, got me a wool jacket with a giant wolf's head on it, like two years ago, on a trip to Alaska. It looked like a bad velvet painting. I actually told her it was awful, for fear that she would waste her money again. For real, mom, I love you ... but next time, just write a check to an animal shelter, in my name.

What was your first concert?
Morrissey at the Paramount in NYC, to promote his album "Your Arsenal", in 9th grade. I actually sung along to some of the songs. It was also the first time I smelled pot, and on the ride home I convinced myself that I had a contact high and was spouting lies about how I had been to, like, a million concerts before.

No more comments! Either someone has violated Godwin's Law, I'm tired of the discussion or, most likely, the ten-week window has closed. You can, however, contact me through email.