Currently, a horrendous, miserable influenza is sweeping through the school I teach at, striking down high schoolers and teachers alike. I, too, have fallen victim to this plague. I fought it as long as I could, but finally, I succumbed. I knew it was time to admit I was sick and stay home when my grading got too merciful (“The American Revolution started in 1879? Oh, I guess that’s close enough – half credit!”) Sadly, there was still a blog post to be written. Try as I might, I could not get the thing written. I tried bribing it, but the post resolutely refused to write itself. I was on my own. What follows is an accurate account of my pathetic attempts to write:
Attempt #1 – Written in Language None Can Comprehend
Here, for the enjoyment and enrichment of all, is my first attempt at a blog entry, copied and pasted in its entirety:
问哈他马克思啊里特瑞阿荣一和人哦投入量一过热阿泰？ What 马克思us可恶评突然宁他 和怕个啥，好哦平头哦和阿荣莫惹？ What恩田海蓉阿拉蕾三us佛如后人三阿泰啊涕么？
No, I did not accidentally write my post in Chinese (although I do occasionally slip and use a Chinese word when I actually want an English one). What I did, in fact, was to forget that I had my keyboard set to Chinese (I had been emailing a Chinese friend earlier) and then proceed to start typing in English. The result, sad to say, is neither English nor Chinese – the characters really don’t make any sense. Just for fun, I entered what I typed into Google
Asked his Marx Lite Rui the Arong one and people inputs an overheated Ron? What Marx us hateful assessment Ning suddenly afraid Gesha, Ay flat head and Arong Mo provoke? What grace Tian Hairong Ala Lei us Buddhism, such as descendants of three Artest tears? What close to Ali starve to death he and heat of people sick quota Restaurant listen Oh color the amount of A Pingfu people did not reconcile the fear Gesha in negative interest rates put the Big Brother Littleton, Jean Valjean, a slightly easy?
No, I had not intended to type about Marx Lite (what is that, a beer for weight-conscious
Communists?) or overheated Rons, or Buddhism – actually, I meant to type a post about what qualities make a hero intriguing to a female reader. However, after the first failed attempt, I thought a change of topic might work better . . .
Attempt #2 – A Feverish Intake of Shakespeare
I thought perhaps I might review one of my favorite film adaptations of Shakespeare. Kenneth Brannagh’s brilliant cinematic masterpiece Henry V seemed a perfect choice. I could lay buried under a pile of blankets, nursing my mug of mulled tea, while I refreshed my memory of the film. Sadly, fever and Shakespeare do not coincide favorably. For the ten minutes that I attempted to watch the film, my thought processes went something like this:
“What did he just say? Blah blah blah, something something something, A kingdom for a
<cough, cough, cough>
“Oh shoot, what just happened? I was c—”
<cough, cough, cough, HACK! cough, cough, cough>
“Oh great, now I missed more of it – what the heck is that guy saying? I can’t hear a blasted
word of it!”
<cough, cough, cough>
<sniffle, AH-CHOOO! sniffle, snort, wheeze>
“Kenneth Brannagh is soooo dreamy . . . that man’s eye looks sort of like pepperoni . . . I wonder
when that pain medication will decide to kick in?”
<cough, cough, cough, cough, HACK! cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough >
< AH-CHOOO! AH-CHOOO! AH-CHOOO!>
Attempt #3 – Maybe our readers would enjoy a short story?
I took a big, nauseating gulp of the most horrible couch medicine that any country has ever
produced. Yes, the honor of creating this foul concoction goes to China. It has an unappetizing shade of black and has a thick, tar-like texture that refuses to slide willingly down the throat. When I pour it into a spoon, I swear that I can see it breathing. After another hefty dose of the stuff (it does, admittedly, help the cough, although it also saps me of my desire to live), I thought perhaps I might be able to compose a short, creative piece about a little girl who doesn’t want to take her medicine:
“Now, Jenny, open wide and close your eyes. You know your medicine isn’t that bad,” Cynthia instructed her pouting da…
You know you’re sick when you can’t make it through the first line of dialogue! When I
awakened several minutes later, with the imprint of my coffee table etched into my forehead, I decided that I was not inspired enough to continue the story.
Attempt #4 – They Always Say that Honesty Is the Best Policy . . .
And so, dear readers, you have just had the dubious privilege of reading my fourth and final attempt. Yes, I typed up an account of my three failed attempts at a blogpost and called it a successful post. I have a fever of 102 – I believe that I am entitled to do this.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have another massive coughing fit, swallow down some more of that Chinese cough medicine, and then curl up into a miserable little heap on my cough – I mean, couch.