Despite an early passion for words – especially those that seemingly walked up to the line of obscenity (feckless, habitual, dastardly, sects), leaned over to look but not touch – I never participated in a spelling bee. Had I done so there are two distinct possibilities. One is that I would have set records untouched and unbroken to this very day. Equestrian statues of my likeness would line countless town squares, but instead of a horse I'd be astride an anthropomorphized Webster's dictionary with 4 legs and eating from a feedbag of letters.
The other much more likely scenario is that upon hearing an adult repeat the word “masticate” several times at the request of an opponent, I would have found myself overcome with laughter, unable to go forward. DQ by uncontrollable hysterics is at least an honorable exit. Teary-eyed, snot-nosed and red-faced, I’d proceed to hang up my spikes for good, never again spelling a word for money. In other situations, I’ve discovered that wearing cleats indoors gives me a firmer grip on reality than I would otherwise have. My one piece of public speaking advice is to carefully affix yourself to the podium to prevent falling in the event of fainting. It’s half harness, half straightjacket, half crazy. Pass out and a stagehand will prop you up with no one in the audience the wiser. Similarly, I’ve never quite understood why seatbelts outside of cars still haven’t caught on. I guess standing desks have extinguished that dream entirely.
But it’s errors that continue to fascinate me. For they stimulate the mind in ways correct answers never can. There’s only one right answer. Frankly, that's pretty boring. Getting something wrong opens up an endless ocean of possibilities. If I ask you who the third president of the United States is and you correctly respond, “Thomas Jefferson.” Great, but that’s the end of the conversation. Should you say “Bart Sampson,” “Gary Potter,” “a team of young, restless armadillos living inside a long, flowing trench coat,” or “trick question, pal. There was no third president. Like the 13th floor in office buildings, we skipped it," now we're talking. Even if it means ending a sentence in a preposition, this I can work with.
Is it any surprise that the word “misspelled” is repeatedly misspelled? In terms of letters, adversity precedes advertising. Fitting, really. The two words are too close to be ignored. Friends, rivals, lovers? Great advertising, like great living, must overcome some obstacle to transcend time, space and social mores.
When I walk the block and a half to get a bagel my life suffers immeasurably if I don’t come up against a little adversity. It could be a stranger wielding a 2X4 who whacks me across the face without either warning or provocation. Should he “stand down” and live to build another termite-infested back porch using untreated pine, my everything bagel with lox just wouldn’t be the same. It could be a heckler, waiting from well over six feet away, who reminds me of all my inadequacies turned up from a routine Google search. You still can violate the social contract without also violating proper social distance. But the cream cheese wouldn’t taste as sweet.
Physical pain and emotional humiliation complements flavor. And for that, there is no substitute.
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