When I was younger, I created a list of things I wanted to do before I die, and many of them are still some of my priorities. A few of my favorites are:
1. Skydiving
2. Coal walking
3. World Travel
And most notably:
Being Knighted
I'm not kidding. Ask my parents. I've researched it. Turns out, if you want to be a knight it's not good enough to do a great service to Great Britain. No. You have to be British. The best I could do is become an "Honorary Knight." That's just dumb. It is difficult to explain the soul-crushing, handicap-rendering effect this has had on me. My dream has been ruined. Talk about depression. Luckily, however, one of the first steps towards being healed is learning to laugh, and this his book is the perfect treatment.
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court makes my dream seem a little silly. It blatantly mocks the common adventure story, poking holes in the accepted archetypes. Now that I think about it, armor wouldn't be all that comfortable. Maps sure would be nice for quests. I like soap. Although being knighted is still a distant goal of mine (Would marrying a Scottish or English guy grant me citizenship somehow?), this book has already made me reconsider the romantic time I used to dream about. Ogres, hundreds of strange women locked in towers, and a missing cup hardly seem like my business. Maybe I should think more like Mark Twain - why would I want to go back to a time where everyone believed everything and talked like someone straight out of Monty Python? No thanks. I'll stick to this century for now, at least until I figure out how to either a) travel through time and space whenever I want b) be knighted in my own time or c) marry David Tennant or Ewan McGregor. Honestly, I find all three of these options acceptable.
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