So, Tell Us Something Interesting about Yourself

If you're a Jeopardy! fan, you'll be familiar with the recently deposed mega-champion, Matt Amodio. During all but the final show of his 38-day reign, he mowed down opponents like a machine gun operator picking off plastic ducks in a carnival arcade. And if you're like me, you spent most of those episodes wishing for a digital video recorder to stop the whiz-bang action long enough to take a stab at an answer.

For two extraordinary months, this mental equivalent of the Road Runner left a succession of his peers in the dust, consistently relegating his challengers to an eye-rolling, why bother? status. The scenario brought to mind the image of the younger boy held at arm's length as he swings in frustrated futility at a big brother with a longer reach and a wicked laugh.

No wicked laughs from Mr. Amodio, though. Having once again decimated another pair of would-be contenders, he unfailingly shook his head in humble amazement as his day's winnings were announced—a total of $83,000 during one particularly profitable half-hour. Though some viewers might have envied Matt's seemingly limitless knowledge about virtually every category the Jeopardy! writers threw at him, he seemed quite likable. And pretty interesting, too, based on the regular mid-program contestant interviews.

Still, after eight weeks, even Matt Amodio had to be digging a bit to keep dredging up sharable snippets from his 30 years on Earth. That's more than one fascinating story per year of life. Impressive. Got me to thinking . . . what would I submit as an engaging tidbit about my experiences, or my trials and errors, or my family traditions? Do I have a personal anecdote worth sharing with a national audience, in hopes of making the host chuckle, or even cluck in admiration?

Here's what I came up with: When I was 12, I encountered, walking toward me, a bored-looking, aloof, mink coat-draped Vivian Vance, of the I Love Lucy Show cast, in the terminal of the San Francisco airport. She didn't acknowledge me—I was one of the Little People—but I recognized her. And from that day on I never viewed her lovably wacky Ethel Mertz character in quite the same way.

That's it. That's all I could unearth from my memory banks. I really need to give this more thought. Then again, if by some twist in the time/space continuum (a parallel universe, maybe?) I ever ended up in a Jeopardy! contestant cubicle, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't need more than one program's worth of anecdotes before I got ushered off as a last-place contender.

But it's a fun exercise. I highly encourage you to make your own list. I'm working on expanding mine: Does collecting an autograph from Toots Shore while dining at his New York establishment in 1958 count?

What's that, you say? Toots who?