No World Record
26 AUGUST 2012
Ever since I made my first "store window" micro-layout back in 1991, people have asked me if I was in the Guinness Book of Records. Given what they had on record at the time (which has been bested by commercial products, no less), I thought I might have a shot. But then the application arrived in the mail, and upon seeing the six or seven pages of documentation required—which included several signed affidavits from witnesses—I decided it wasn't worth the trouble.
About ten years later, I broke my personal record by more than half with my 1:35,200 model layout, and once again I was urged by well-intentioned modelers to get it in the record books. I thought about it—for, oh, maybe five seconds, until I recalled the application form, and then all interest drained away.
Fast forward again to just last month, and something quite remarkable popped up in my email in-box: a letter from a representative of the Guinness Book of Records asking if I would please submit an application for my 1:35,200 model layout. It was quite the turnabout—now the record book was pursuing me, rather than the reverse.
It was tempting. I figured that, with a representative helping me, the application might not be quite as onerous. But the temptation was short-lived, for I then thought about what company I'd be keeping within the record book—it has, unfortunately, morphed over the years. At one time, Guinness was a terrific resource, full of useful facts—it could settle bets, win arguments, educate and entertain all at once. But in order to remain "relevant," the book had to win the attention of younger people, who have little interest in the longest bridge or tallest building; they're caught up in the extremes of absurdity: how many spoons someone can balance on their face, how long a person can survive locked in a cage with tarantulas, and how far one can squirt milk from their eye.
Now, before anyone accuses me of embellishment, I drew all of these "records" from their own website. It was there I found ample justification to tell their representative, "thanks, but no thanks." With such scintillating topics as "most times hit by a car in two minutes" or "most people blowing a chewing gum bubble simultaneously," why would anyone be possibly interested in my silly little model?
It was a sad conclusion: the Guinness Book of Records has become a freak show, plain and simple. And my brief visit to their website convinced me there was nothing to gain by participating, other than bragging rights—and since I've never been one to be concerned about bragging rights, it was quite easy for me to bring the process to an end before it even started.
Incidentally, this isn't the first time "fame" has come chasing after me courtesy of the YouTube video of my little layout; a couple of years ago, a Japanese television company contacted me, asking if they could interview me and shoot my layout for a television series—essentially an Eastern video version of Ripley's Believe It or Not. They were all set to send down a film crew from their Manhattan branch office; I had to tell them "no" two or three times before they stopped pestering me.
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One may question my reluctance to be "famous." Well, my achievements really are meaningful only to me, so public acknowledgment isn't something I crave. Besides, if I'm to be acknowledged for my achievement, please make it an appropriate venue, as opposed to some variation on a human freak show.