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I enjoyed eating food. Sometimes I made foods. Eating food was important in helping my metabolic processes, but no longer. I ate things for 24 years, 7 months and 21 days (approximately)
I tried to live by the words of George Carlin: “Always try not to get killed.” I succeeded to a T.
I was simultaneously too cynical and not nearly cynical enough. I also loved everything and hated everything at the same time.
We're all goddamned hypocrites.
I almost never had a favorite. The music, foods, colors, entertainment, activities, smells, etc- things I enjoyed changed with my mood, so I could never accurately answer questions like “What is your favorite cartoon cow?”
I sang stupid songs about things like farting ducks when I was in a good mood. With the help of the people I lived with, I manufactured horrible linguistic viruses- things like replacing “am,” “are” and “is” with the word “ham,” for example, and replacing verbs with the word “sex.” This progressively lead to less and less intelligible dialog, such as “Ham you sexing up the ham?” and “How ham the hammy sex?” It got bad enough that it spread to the workplace and to friends, and from there on.
As far as the nightlife, my comrades and I sometimes drove around this wonderful small college town and shouted absurd stream-of-consciousness phrases at drunken college students as they stumbled in and out of bars and dorms.