As promised, here is the straight dope on dr. Dave, straight from the mouth of his personal assistant’s best friend’s cousin in law.

Ultrabob started things somewhat abruptly with a simple and direct:

What the fuck?

I see we got the hardball questions out already. No beating around the bush.

Now this is a tough question, I tend to ask this myself at least once a day, if not more. I asked my cat too, with very little results.
Eventually, to such a vast and essential question encompassing all of Man’s struggle for understanding, I could only summon my best jesuitic education, and retort by what is, in my own humble opinion, both the real question and the answer:

Why the fuck not?

Martine then kindly worried about the possible repercussions of this new fad and asked:

why the sudden urge for transparency?

I could probably spout the usual clichés about real personality laying deeper than silly life factoids and the secret Me being safe from cold, information-prying people out to get me… But the truth is I was mildly bored with this blog with no time to offer anything else, and I have already posted pictures of me naked. Call that pushing the boundaries. Or stepping down the dangerous path of addiction.

Seriously though: I am well aware of the bum-biting potential of too much transparency, which is why one of the only rule carved in stone for this blog is that my full name is never used. Anybody with some motivation and a bit of skills could dig it (and a lot of people reading this know it anyway), but as you said, I quite like the comfort of knowing that a tentative employer’s or significant other’s Google search for my name doesn’t yield any of my blog entries about that episode with the three czech hookers and the pound of colombian pure (and the monkey).

For the rest, in the realm of things that have or haven’t been said on this blog, I will actually backtrack and invoke the old cliché: it’s not the things you show, it’s the things you don’t. Or less cryptically and in the words of an author I like: “I’m not overly worried about showing my ass, so long as I don’t have to show my heart”…

Moving on, with a series of down-to-earth questions, by our ever down-to-earth j-ster:

I’d like to know your underwear size, and your favourite number, and the number of different colours your hair has been.

• 29 (I like them snug), with teddy-bears holding little hearts on it.
• 8. I think..
• Ahem, that’s a tough one. Hold on a sec… That’d be eight: blond, platinum, silver, blue, purple, red, orange and of course, every once in a while: natural. Not counting shades and variations thereof, nor highlights (my London years were essentially spent with a blue on silver combination). I think of all them, blue lasted the longest: I probably had it for a good three years…

Neuro asks:

• what is yhour prefered meal?
• what is your prefered beer?
• do you like ice cream?

• [good] Indian food… Anything not seafood or fish-related.
• Bière Dodo! Although a nice white Belgian beer…
• Not a huge fan of the traditional French or Anglo-saxon kind… But I definitely like gelato, and not against some of the more interesting j-flavors (no, not kujira).

Xavier and Junior respectively ask:

Spit or swallow ?

How many licks *does* it take [Dr. Dave] to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?

Both of which I will have to give the same answer:

Dunno, I never made it without biting.

To C, anxious to hear about WPPM: I promise I’ll make a special announcement next week.

Last minute add-on.

Bob is back and asks:

Is it, or is it not true, that your actual full title is:
Dr. Jordan P. Dave, Phd and friend of Captain Solo

I’m sorry Bob, I cannot comment on this: see mention above, about omitting my real name. Beside Han has also made a special request not to be cited by name in these pages (something about Leia googling him a while back and finding a whole recount of what has gone to be known as the “Wookie Nanny” episode).

And now back to extra-navelian blogging.