One for the
Record Books
Since then I’ve been trying to think of other ways I might be able to get myself into the Guinness Book of World Records. I’ve been doing this because getting into the Guinness Book of World Records is the surest way to validate your existence, short of getting on the air during a Patriots game by painting yourself blue.
The latest edition hit bookstores recently, and when I saw it I felt that familiar pang I get from knowing I’m not listed among its pages. "Oh," I thought to myself, "how glorious it must feel to be Monte Pierce, record holder for furthest coin propulsion by an earlobe!"
You heard me. Pierce, who can also apparently pull his earlobes down under his chin, propelled a coin 12 feet through the air to earn his spot. Still, as glamorous as that sounds, I’m sure it has its drawbacks; for one, you’re constantly looking over your shoulder for all those young earlobe-coin-propellers looking to break your record. Also, there’s a danger of becoming airborne during a stiff wind.
Still, it got him into the book, and that’s what counts. You can say the same about Graham Barker, who has collected a record .54 ounces of his own belly button lint by extracting it every day since 1984; he says his ultimate goal is to collect enough to stuff a pillow. I’m guessing his friends aren’t exactly lining up to use his guest bedroom.
Then there’s Ken Edwards, who made the book by eating 36 medium-size cockroaches in one minute. We can only assume that the next logical step for Edwards is to move on to large-size cockroaches, at which point he will hopefully break down and finally get some cocktail sauce.
I’m not sure if any of those records are up my alley, but isn’t it good to know the Guinness Book would be there to provide recognition if they were? It’s hard to believe there was actually a time when people who ate 36 cockroaches received very little in the way of fanfare.
Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that my best bet for getting into the book is to devise a record nobody else has held before. These are a few that I’m considering:
· Most Spit-Up Upon Man. My 1-month-old son, Tim, seems to spit up only when within my immediate proximity, specifically when leaning directly over my most expensive pants. And somehow, I never see it coming — it’s like stealth spit-up. If there was a category for Most Furtive Regurgitation, Tim would be a shoo-in.
· Most Viewings of the Last 10 Minutes of "Jaws 2." Every time I flip past the Encore channel it seems to be showing the end of "Jaws 2," leading me to believe that the station may be running the movie, or at least the last 10 minutes of it, 24 hours a day. Regardless, for some reason each time I come across it I find myself having to stop and watch until the stupid shark bites the power line. Somehow, it’s cathartic.
· Most Tootsie Roll Pops Consumed. When you’ve convinced yourself that the best way to stay healthy is to eat cottage cheese for lunch every day, any food that doesn’t involve curds becomes pretty much irresistible. So when someone in my office put out a huge container of Tootsie Roll Pops recently, I couldn’t help myself. It got the point where I would have shoved my head directly into the bowl if I didn’t have to take the wrappers off.
If all of those fail, I figure I’m left with just two options: Continue to devote myself to pathetic, last-ditch runs at any or all records left in the book until I hit on something that will get me in, or put the Guinness Book behind me and get on with my life.
Naturally, I’m leaning toward the former. Although if anyone catches me trying to best the record set by Sooty, the Most Romantic Guinea Pig, please call the police immediately.