Oh, it started small, as these things always do. It was when I was in high school, in the library. I had a hankering for some useless knowledge. I had already read and re-read all of David Feldman’s Imponderables, Joel Achenbach’s Why Things Are, and all of that kid stuff. Suddenly, my eyes fell on a book I’d never seen before. It was “The Straight Dope”, by Cecil Adams. I vaguely remembered having read the name in a magazine article some years back. Wasn’t he supposed to be the world’s smartest human, or something? I picked up the book, and read it. And on that day, I ceased to be an innocent young girl, and became an addict.
I read it cover to cover, then re-read it several times. And when I almost knew it by heart, the library acquired “Revenge of the Straight Dope”. The pattern began anew. (I still haven’t read “Return of the Straight Dope”. If they’d had that particular selection, the risk of overdose would have been very real.) Around this time, I discovered that Cecil’s column runs in the local free alternative weekly. I was overjoyed. I now had a more stable source of regular fixes. So, I’d read the books and the columns, what was left for me to do? To what depths could I possibly sink next? You guessed it…
After I bought “The Straight Dope Tells All”, and read the hilarious threads excerpted from the old AOL board, I thought “Gosh, I’d love to participate in that! Too bad I don’t have net access…” Well, when I came to college, I acquired net access, but it was several months before I got around to checking out the board, which by this time had moved here. Finally I came, I lurked, I posted, I was hooked. You know what it’s like for college students seeking relief for the constant stress…
And that long and convoluted tale sums up the length of my involvement with all things Dope. Truly, if I had known back then where this would lead, I would have never picked up that book, but I did, and now I must live with the consequences of that act, as must we all.
An infinite number of rednecks in an infinite number of pickup trucks shooting an infinite number of shotguns at an infinite number of road signs will eventually produce all the world’s great works of literature in Braille.