Dear John

John Hodgman has hurt my feelings. Deeply.

He didn't bother to notify me that he has a "blog". Mr. Hodgman is an expert in organic and electronic message-sending , so I can only take this oversight on his part as the emotionally devastating personal attack that it so clearly is.

I have feelings, you know. Or you would if you were really the expert you claim to be. John.



Back at the end of 2005, I recorded a radio interview with Mr. Hodgman and his book-tour partners , David Rees and Jonathon Coulton.

We were upstairs at the bookshop where the traveling trio was giving a performance and I (who, like most people at that time, had no idea who this "Hodgman" character was) started leafing through his book. Hodgman and Rees were embroiled in an incoherent imbroglio with the store owner about the number of backstage lavatories and something about a contract rider... jesus, these dudes are worse than a thousand guitarists, I thought, thumbing Hodgman's tome as the argument gradually lurched into an interview.

Hmmm... HMM! I reached over and clicked the voice recorder off.

"Cut."

"Wha... huh?" Hodgman looked puzzled. Rees and Coulton looked for a bar.

"You stole my idea."

"I did what?", asked the Man Who Would Be PC.

"You stole my idea. I invented the idea of being an expert on everything. I even have a blog about it. I make stuff up and people believe it. I am the expert expert. You are stealing my fame."

Hodgman tried using facts , copyright notices and expert opinions to prove that I was wrong, which only served to make my case because, as we both knew, an expert is someone who makes stuff up.
And he, said I, was making stuff up . The internet just wasn't big enough for two experts. What could be done?

Secrecy ensued. Whispers were shouted.

We reached an agreement. A magical ritual was devised.
I would give Hodgman 15 minutes of my Fame, and in return , he would deface a copy of his book, crossing out his name and replacing it with my own. After a suitable period of time ( six to eight weeks was our verbal agreement) had elapsed, the Fame I had loaned to Hodgman would return to me seven-fold, giving me nearly two hours return for my 15 minute investment.

That was in 2005.

I see Hodgman everywhere.
He lies to John Stewart on TV.
He's a celebrity punching-bag for some trendy kid named Mac.
He's even showing up on the Internet.

OK. He's had his fifteen minutes. Where is my two hours?

We had a deal.

So I dug out the book that we had used to seal our negotiations.

To my shock and horror, his name had mysteriously appeared where mine used to be. It was a Dorian Grey moment of clarity.



I should have known better than to make deals with a gentleman who is an expert on "common short and long cons" (pg. 148)

I'm not famous and my book is ruined. Some deal.