"It's total garbage. They're supposed to be the biggest blog competition in the world. They even have a category for the 'Best Bloggers,' and I wasn't friggin' nominated. That's my friggin' category. And do you want to know what the worst part is?"
"The worst part isn't that you broke another one of my windows?"
"Don't be ridiculous, of course not. The worst part is that for a while I thought I was nominated." That's the truth. When the nominations were announced, I genuinely thought I made the cut, despite the fact that I didn't receive an email, a phone call, or any other sign that might indicate that the Weblog committee was even aware of my existence. "Why would you think that," Jack asked. I put my arm around his shoulder.
"They say that, the night before he received his party's nomination for presidency, George Washington sat up in his bed and exclaimed 'I'm going to be the first president of the United States.' They say that Mozart, as young as six, would go around saying "I'm the greatest," like a younger, whiter, less impressive Muhammad Ali. And they say that, before he painted the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo sat up in his Italian bed and shouted 'I'm-a gonna be-a one of the greatest-a painters of all-a time-a, buon giorno, mi chiamo, va bene, mamma mia!"
"Who says that?"
"And that's what I felt, Jacura TSX. I felt it in my bones that this nomination was mine." So confident was I, in fact that I didn't even bother to check the list of nominations. I just bought a tux and started drafting an acceptance speech.
So confident, in fact, that I told all of my friends and family members to check out the nominations before I did. So confident, in fact, that I emailed all of my enemies and told them to suck it, (which was actually okay, because I sort of do that on a daily basis anyway). It was one of these enemies, (who, for the purposes of this column, I'll call "Gladstone"), that pointed out that I