Some day, hopefully in the distant future, my number will be up. And when I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil, I hope that I will have done something significant enough to merit a biography. Of course, with the numbers of us under-employed historians around, everybody might be lucky enough to have one.
So…what will the title of your biography be? Note this question is a little different from “What do you want your biography to be called?”…no fair calling yours Modern Casanova or some such.
Mine will be I Can’t Imagine How You Got Here from There: The Constant Wandering of Duke.
I’m hoping to write a book of humorous memoirs from my med school and residency years. I’m going to call it Twenty Years of Schoolin’ and They Put You On the Night Shift.
That or Mortality Play. (Maybe that will be the follow-up.)
My memoirs will be entitled “I Barfed on Mickey Mouse.”
When I was about 4 (1972-ish), we went to California and went to Disneyland. My kooky aunt thought it would be a good idea to take ME (for whom there is rarely enough Dramamine on the planet to get me across town) on the spinning teacups. Mickey was there waiting when we got off, and…bleah!
What Rough Beast–written as the world slowly recovers from the horrible aftermath my rabid cult of followers shall inflict upon it after my death of mysterious causes.
Since I do plan on someday writing an autobiography I have put much thought into this in the past. At first I was planning on calling it “Normanite” b/c I grew up in Norman, Ok. and anyone who has ever lived there knows that to call yourself a Normanite is to call yourself a lot of unusual things. But I decided that that name was too general so I have decided to change it to “Glutton for Punishment”. This is b/c most of the interesting things in my story would be about the hardships I have endured, most of which have been self inflicted by my poor decision making. Look for it in a book store near you in about ten to fifteen years.
Either that or I’ve got Better Things to Do. At the tender age of 5, I presaged the entire standardized-test-boycott movement by refusing to take a standardized kindergarten test. The above was my excuse. I refused up until the point where my teacher called up my mom at home and had her come into school to tell me to take the test.