I fucked Mary What's-Her-Name.
It was
dark. I was at MIT. What can I say? I thought
she was Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
Judging by the e-mail I got
yesterday,
some of you haven't heard this story.
"How come you put down Kurt
Vonnegut in
the fine print at the end of your column? What
did he ever do to you?"
Here's the story: A writer for
the Chicago
Tribune -- Mary Stimack I think her name is --
wrote a column dedicated
to the class of 1997. Some wise-ass scanned it,
sent it out over the
Internet and gave Kurt Vonnegut the credit. The
hoax was titled: Kurt
Vonnegut, Jr.'s graduation speech at MIT. (I
looked it up and MIT
stands for the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology.)
The prank was discovered when
Vonnegut's
wife read the speech and voiced her
congratulations.
"Why didn't you tell me you
gave this
speech at MIT?" she asked. "Because I didn't,"
he said.
The media got wind of the story
and ran
with it like a hound with a turkey leg. Next
thing you know Mary Summac
gets an appearance before the high court --
Night Line with Ted Koppel.
As I watched the TV, I rooted
for Mary
Stickman. She's got talent. The column would've
made a terrific speech.
But she blew it.
Koppel asked her what she
thought of this
Internet hoax. I was expecting her to say, "It's
great, Ted! I'm on TV,
people across the globe are reading my words,
life has never been so
good." Instead, she says (and I'm quoting very
accurately) "I think
it's terrible that someone can take your words
and make them available
for the entire world to see."
Holy fuck, Mary. You write a
freakin'
column for the Chicago Tribune. Don't you think
people see your words?
Or do you only want readers from, say, Wrigley
Field to Michigan Ave.
Be careful Mary. Somebody might smuggle the
Tribune onto an airplane.
Your column could wind up in China. God knows
what would happen once
the Chinese got their pinko hands on your words.
Sadly, I don't have a new hero
after all.
So I'm sticking with the lie I love: Kurt
Vonnegut wrote it, and that's
that. Tick...tick...tick... Mary Sucklick, your
fifteen minutes are up.
Mark Twain supposedly said,
"The coldest
winter I ever spent was a summer in San
Francisco." Scholars claim he
never said it at all. Twain got the credit, they
say, but someone else
wrote the words. Probably a columnist for the
Chicago Tribune.
Meanwhile, Kurt Vonnegut
continues to reap
the rewards of Mary's efforts. He's been invited
to do a graduation
speech at the University of Houston in 1998 and
he's been making public
appearances again. He recently caused a flap in
the media when he said
he didn't mourn the passing of princess Diana.
"She never said anything
memorable and she
was too tall," he said.
What does he care? He can say
anything he
wants. He's got a get-out-of-controversy free
card.
"I never said that -- must have
been that
fucking columnist at the Trib."
For the record, I'm including
the speech
in this column. Who knows? Maybe this time I'll
get the credit. Maybe
this time I'll be on Night Line. You won't see
me fumble the ball at
the one-yard line.
"It's great, Ted! I'm on TV,
people across
the globe are reading my words, life has never
been so good."
* * *
Kurt
Vonnegut's speech
to the 1997 graduating class at MIT:
Ladies and
gentlemen
of the class of '97:
Wear
sunscreen.
If I could
offer you
only one tip for the future, sunscreen would
be it. The long-term
benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists, whereas the rest
of my advice has no basis more reliable than
my own meandering
experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the
power and
beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You
will not understand the power
and beauty of your youth until they've
faded. But trust me, in 20
years, you'll look back at photos of
yourself and recall in a way you
can't grasp now how much possibility lay
before you and how fabulous
you really looked. You are not as fat as you
imagine.
Don't worry
about the
future. Or worry, but know that worrying is
as effective as trying to
solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble
gum. The real troubles in
your life are apt to be things that never
crossed your worried mind,
the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on
some idle Tuesday.
Do one
thing every day
that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be
reckless with
other people's hearts. Don't put up with
people who are reckless with
yours.
Floss.
Don't waste
your time
on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead,
sometimes you're behind. The race
is long and, in the end, it's only with
yourself.
Remember
compliments
you receive. Forget the insults. If you
succeed in doing this, tell me
how.
Keep your
old love
letters. Throw away your old bank
statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel
guilty if
you don't know what you want to do with your
life. The most interesting
people I know didn't know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their
lives. Some of the most interesting
40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty
of calcium.
Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when
they're gone.
Maybe
you'll marry,
maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children,
maybe you won't. Maybe
you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the
funky chicken on your 75th
wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't
congratulate yourself too
much, or berate yourself either. Your
choices are half chance. So are
everybody else's.
Enjoy your
body. Use
it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it
or of what other people
think of it. It's the greatest instrument
you'll ever own.
Dance, even
if you
have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the
directions,
even if you don't follow them.
Do not read
beauty
magazines. They will only make you feel
ugly.
Get to know
your
parents. You never know when they'll be gone
for good. Be nice to your
siblings. They're your best link to your
past and the people most
likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand
that
friends come and go, but with a precious few
you should hold on. Work
hard to bridge the gaps in geography and
lifestyle, because the older
you get, the more you need the people who
knew you when you were young.
Live in New
York City
once, but leave before it makes you hard.
Live in Northern California
once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept
certain
inalienable truths: Prices will rise.
Politicians will philander. You,
too, will get old. And when you do, you'll
fantasize that when you were
young, prices were reasonable, politicians
were noble and children
respected their elders.
Respect
your elders.
Don't
expect anyone
else to support you. Maybe you have a trust
fund. Maybe you'll have a
wealthy spouse. But you never know when
either one might run out.
Don't mess
too much
with your hair or by the time you're 40 it
will look 85.
Be careful
whose
advice you buy, but be patient with those
who supply it.
Advice is a
form of
nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing
the past from the
disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it
for more than it's worth.
But trust
me on the
sunscreen.
* * *
Is Kurt
Vonnegut great
or what?