If I could only pick one? No idea.
It’s a fun party question to ask, “If you could meet anybody, who would it be?” Me, I love people and couldn’t really narrow my list down at all. Truthfully, I find so many folks interesting – especially the weird ones (who gravitate towards me like a magnet, I might add… no names mentioned). But usually people mean the question in terms of which famous person from history [dead] would you like to meet?
Still, I have a list a mile long. But probably at the top, I’d have love to have met some of the biggie writers. I’m talkin’ canonical Mo Fo’s.
- Dostoevsky
- Victor Hugo
- Hemmingway, Thoreau, Franklin, and Billy Boy Shakespeare!
Could you imagine sipping tea with Poe?
How about going for a row boat ride with Emerson?
A late night cafe con leche with Cervantes?
Me, I think the writers would be fascinating but then again, I’m a book dork. I mean chatting art with Monet, design with Michelangelo, or love (and ears) with Van Gogh would be hot!
And I am not sure if one could beat a clam bake with Dali or a barbecue with Picasso, either
Let’s not forget music. Perhaps there might not be a more tickling reaction to be had as giving me the chance to put a pair of iPod ear buds on Beethoven’s head so that I could expose him to the artistry of Justin Beiber.
But still, if I had to choose a famous dead person I really have no idea which way I’d go. It’d be a “thinker” though, of that I am pretty sure. The military folks never intrigued me as much as those with a philosophical bent. (Not that military guys aren’t thinkers, but I’ve a luvah, not a fighter.)
Lamb with Aristotle? Yes.
Turkey sandwiches with Stonewall Jackson. Eh, I’d take it, but not even a top 100. And though I am sure he’d eat my liver if he heard me say this, Dr. Seuss intrigues me far, far more than Attila the Hun.
Who would you choose? And why? Me, I have no idea. (But secretly I have always wished I was the one who wrote Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure a movie where two high school kids time-travelled and got to have a great time with all kinds of famous dead folks).
Einstein, Voltaire, Plato, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, Moses… it’d be great to share some chips and salsa with any of these cats, too, I think.
I’ve also noticed that my list is notably male. I blame patriarchal history. In a battle of Charles Dickens vs. Jane Austen, I’d take Charles Dickens every time. That’s not to say Jane wouldn’t be a kick in the pants – and only a fool would suggest that sharing a front porch and a glass of lemonade with Emily Dickinson wouldn’t be pretty outstanding – but the guys do seem to dominate my thoughts. Sure Getrude Stein, Sylvia Plath, Mother Goose (actually, she might crack my top 100; I’d just sit there with warm cookies and milk and drool the afternoon away) they all hold an attraction. (And now that I think about it, Jeanne d’ Arc would be a “let’s have some bouillabaisse” pick for sure). But the dudes certainly feel like they are carrying the category for me. (Perhaps there’s an argument for castration to be had in the reason why, somewhere.)
If I could only pick one? No idea. (But W. Somerset Maughm feels like a top 5.)


The real problem with reading is what you end up learning as a result of being a reader. For example, this week I learned that…
If I was going to craft a list of the top 10 books of the 20th century in our nation’s English classes, the ones that have most shaped, informed, been taught, and so on, I have a feeling The Catcher in the Rye would make the list.
America’s definition of wealth is warped. And the definition of wealth we teach our kids is skewed as well. (After all, I should know. I think the way I have been taught to think about ideas such as “worth”, “value”, “assets” and so on are exceptionally demented being that the monetary association is always my first and foremost barometer for these definitions — when I know in my heart that family, health, service to others and so on are much more meaningful to me once I slow down and count up all my chickens.)