Thursday, March 20, 2003
Okay, before I talk about the Wonderful World of Islam (I'm being sincere) let me address a topic that has been burning on my soul for the past week... nay, for months now.
Many people throughout the annals of history have fought for the right to bear the mantle of world's stupidest person. Not personally bear, mind you, but to force others to bear, to bestow, as it were, not with grace but with malice. Surely you've heard the fatal words, if not pronounced them yourselves: "You are without a doubt the dumbest person to ever walk upon God's green earth," or something to that effect. Well, I have good news. The competition is over, finished, kaput. No one has to waste another thought on this most lofty of distinctions. The winner has been found. The most agonizingly, vainglorious, foolish clod in the Universe has been revealed, and there can be no debate of how worthy he is of the title. And no, it's not Dubba or Sadamarama. Ces't moi.
Allow me to document my credentials forthwith: last Saturday, March 15th, the fabled Ides of March, I had been stricken with the first signs of flu. The signs had appeared the previous day, but thanks to the home-and church- spun ministrations of my mother-in-law, I was on my way to recovery. My younger sister-in-law - my wife's twin, Ania - secured a prescription for me from her older physiatrist sister for flu medicine. She asked Ania who then asked me: "are you allergic to any antibiotics?" Immediately I thought of sulpha, which can kill me. I had taken it before some years ago and I know of what I speak. But I thought sulpha wasn't an antibiotic so I said "nothing." The truth is, even though sulpha made me puff up like the fat kid in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory with pain to match, I never bother to find out what kind of drug it is. Arrogance, my friends, slothful pride. And for those of you who don't know what it is or haven't guessed by now, let me fill you in: it's an antibiotic, used to fight infectious diseases. Ya know? Like the flu? (In Polish, grippa... Doh! Or in Polish, Doh!)
Right on the front of the box in big, bold letters, it announced itself: Sulpha-something-or-other. But because "sulpha" was merely a prefix and I had taught myself to beware medications with Latin names of five letters' length, I ignored it. And damn near killed myself. Gradually, but ever more insistently, my thighs and shoulders came to feel as if somebody had sliced them open and was scooping out the insides. It was only the doctor who came to wife's call sharp-sightedness that exposed my mistake. He was about to give me an injection and I begged him to keep me far away from sulpha.... and so he did. He read my medicine box and I presume told me wife how unbelievably foolish I was in their native language. Today, five days later, I still experience mild pain.
Let me spell this out for you in big, bold letters if you still doubt the validity of my claim. And I hope you don't ignore bold print like yours truly here. I had a box marked "poison" in front of me. I ate the contents of the box regardless. And then lo! I was poisoned. I know, huh?
But no, don't let in end there. It gets better. While I was bathing in the rich aromatic rank of my folly, I began to wonder what else I had done to possibly cement my permanent entry in the volumes of fools and numbskulls. You see, I was so close to fame now I could taste it. I craved my title of Crown Dunce... let the world kneel and tremble! My mind swayed once again, as it had often in the previous weeks, why I still had no response from any of the publishers to whom I sent proposals about my latest book, The Spokes of My Soul? Suddenly I recalled that I had not sent any self-addressed-stamped-enveloped (SASEs) with ANY of my submissions. And all publishers clearly make it known that I need to send these if I expect any reply. Shoot, rumor has it that some publishers won't even read a proposal without it.
Why didn't I include them? Well, the long answer if they weren't listed in any of the individual publishers' submission guidelines (taken from Writer's Market, the would-be published author's bible). But that's because it's says in the front of the Market that they are essential and every hopeful King and Rice and out there should know it. Which brings me to the short answer: 'Cause I'm STOO-PID!!!!!!!!! I don't want to tell you how much time and effort and money I put into the submissions. I was so excruciatingly thorough with everything, crossing every "t", dotting every "i", driving everybody around me crazy. But I omitted this simple, simple thing.
.... So what do you think, folks? My crown is richly deserved, no? Just remember that anytime you feel the need to bestow the epithet to someone else. Even Georgie and Sadamarama, however besieged by their own policies, can point to me now and feel some small sense of vindication.
Feel free to call and congratulate me if you want. But wait 'till my wife gets home, okay? 'Cause I left my apartment keys at my mother-in-law's, a four-hour train ride away. It may be a long afternoon.
posted by mark 2:27 PM
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