Hey, Paula: My Biography's Waiting for You

Paula Broadwell and I hard at work on my biography.

(Notice the firm, erect positioning of my right hand)

When a man reaches the "Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute" years of his life,  it comes natural to him to want to leave behind some sort of testament of his life and times.  This is true both for those men who have actually "done stuff" as well as for men such as myself whose major lifetime achievement has been breaking the habit of fingernail biting  at age 57. 

But how to create that testament?

With personal memoir eliminated as a possible option since writing one involves "doing stuff," I created a short list of competent biographers consisting of:

1) David McCullough.  My first choice was golden-throated master historian and PBS superstar McCullough,  envisioning his magical narration on the followup Ken Burns feature about me ... 

"Faced with the recurring prospect of being savagely beaten up on his way to school, Perry chose an alternate route across the Gingham Pass and through the Bernsteins' back yard, unaware that two of the fourth grade girls lay in wait for him."

Unfortunately Mr. McCullough declined to author my biography as his historical research led him to side with the fourth grade girls.

2) Doris Kearns Goodwin.  The esteemed author of the book No Ordinary Time about Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt had to be eliminated from consideration after her projected title for my bio was "Very Ordinary Time, If That."

3) Paula Broadwell.  Though you've probably never heard of her, Ms. Broadwell had authored a book about General David Petraeus, the renowned US. general with an impeccable reputation. When I first looked her comely resume over up and down,  I began to get immediately excited.  The woman had a firm grasp of history, and she had come ... umm, I mean ... had come well recommended by the General himself!

We arranged to meet  and she flew to Philadelphia.  As soon as I laid eyes on her,  I realized that if I were to ever have the opportunity to discover how well my biographer made fried eggs and toast, I'd rather it be Ms. Broadwell than David McCullough.

"UCCHHH!" she said as she got off the plane and greeted me.

I suppose she was tired from the long flight from Washington D.C. to Philadelphia.

Gradually, however,  I came to win her over.  While we initially worked over the phone with me in Pennsylvania and her in North Carolina, we drew closer and soon began working from opposite ends of North Carolina. Continuing to communicate over the phone,  later we began working several blocks away from each other in North Carolina, although I didn't realize at the time she had built a moat between our two houses.    

As we approached the end of the project and page 37 of the book (with illustrations), I could contain myself no longer.

"Paula, why don't you dig me?" I pleaded. "You know all the special things about me that make me me, such as that I write a blog that no one reads and I no longer bite my nails!"

She then explained that she had a thing for General Petraeus!   She'd even been imbedded with him! Also it was then that she told me about the moat.

My collaboration with Paula Broadwell ended, I've decided to give it a couple more years until I try again to have my biography written.  Next time I'm going to get me a really hot biographer who hasn't yet written about anybody exciting or interesting. 

Someone who spends all her time around Republicans.

And in a couple of years, who knows?   Maybe I'll actually have "done stuff." 

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I'll get myself an even hotter biographer.  You'll see.

Lower Your Expectations!

It's fairly standard practice in the days leading up to a Presidential Debate for both sides to busily go about "lowering expectations." 

That is, minimizing your own candidate's debating abilities and style in such a manner that if he does indeed get his ass kicked, he can still claim to have sort of a nice ass. Following his less than stellar first debate, President Obama today unveiled a hastily revamped strategy for the rest of the campaign, centered upon the slogan:

Obama 2012:  
Knew I Shouldda Taken Debating! 

"I don't have a chance in these debates!" said the President speaking in Madison WI. "I'm just a humble tongue-tied community organizer from Chicago up against the Winston Churchill of our Times!" 

"Mitt Romney is a smooth talkin' rich white guy with distinguished  graying temples and just the right dab of grease in his hair," admitted senior campaign adviser David Axelrod. "The President has big ears and speaks in a faltering kind of stutter-stop manner.  He really should have taken Debating in high school!"

The "Knew I Shouldda Taken Debating!" slogan will shortly begin appearing on bumper stickers and lunch boxes as well as elsewhere throughout the Obama campaign.

"If things continue like this," said the President, "I wouldn't be surprised if come November I find my ass strapped to the roof of Mitt Romney's car!"

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My Twitter Pledge to You

Almost exactly two years ago, I first joined the social networking site known as Twitter.

At that time I understood little about Twitter other than how stupid I thought the name was, sounding something like a cross between a child's play toy or an adult's play toy if you happen to talk like Elmer Fudd. 

 And I still think that.

The word tweet also strikes me as kind of juvenile for describing the act of communication over a medium that's become as much a serious source of  information about politics, world affairs, and art as about whether Justin Bieber can produce sufficiently potent sperm to father a child.

Would great people throughout history have used something called tweets to express their deepest and most sage thoughts and ideas?

@WinWithWinnie  We will fight on the land, on the sea, & in the air .... but if they attack us from space, we're screwed!

@AlbieEinstein   WOOT!  I've got it:  E=MC 2.   Now, more coffee!

@ArthurMiller69  Nitey nite, tweeps!  I'm off to bed with Marilyn Monroe & you're not!

@TheReneDescartes   I think.  Therefore I tweet.

@Will_Shakespeare  I wrote a mess of plays & sonnets?   I  can't even spell my last name the same way twice!  #fakedyaalloutmorons!

In one man's quest to further ennoble this medium I have come to love, or at least tolerate, I have developed a set of rules for my conduct on Twitter:  A Ten Commandments of Twitter,  if you will, and even if you won't.  

I shall follow these Ten Commandments of Twitter to the letter and with all my heart, except on weekends and Jewish holidays.

Herewith, My Twitter Pledge to You:

1) I will never use the expression "WOOT" unless I happen to talk like Elmer Fudd and am tweeting about what you should do-do-do for the home team. 

2) I will never use the expression "Woo-hoo" unless you have previously tweeted "Knock Knock" to which I have tweeted "Who's there?" to which you have tweeted "Woo."

3) Under no circumstances  will I ever LOL my own tweets.  This is the twitter equivalent of jerking off.   It's not up to me to determine if my tweets are funny, you make the call and LOL me!  I hope.

4) I will never tweet "Good morning, Tweeps" unless I have actually spent the night with all of my followers,  or at least one or more of those followers I'd actually like to spend the night with!

5) I will never use the expression "the hubs" in any of my tweets, even if one day I should actually have a "hubs."

6) All my DMs will be dirty.

7) I will never follow back hate mongers, extreme right wing NRA-types,  or anti-semites  unless they have smokin' hot avatars with big boobs. 

8) I will never use the hashtag #amwriting unless I happen to be living in a parallel dimension in which pronouns do not exist

9) I will never at any time follow celebrities --- except of course each and every one of you!

10) And yes, I will also kiss your ass.

Additional copies of My Twitter Pledge to You are available if you send me an e-mail at the address shown on my Facebook page.  Make sure to include the words "WOOT" and "woo-hoo" and the hashtag "amwriting." 

And don't forget to tell 'em @WinwithWinnie sent you! 

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