MY secret boyfriend is dreamier than YOUR secret boyfriend.

malcolm gladwell is speaking at two events in this year's new yorker festival, both on saturday, september 24. the first explores the american obsession with precociousness (which is uncannily similar to the dominant theme of each and every one of my family gatherings, "grampy's obsession with joon's precociousness." these lectures vary somewhat but inevitably end with the touching story of how, as a toddler, i would go into my grandparents' refrigerator and spend what sounds like it must have been hours passing silent judgment on their strawberries, trying to choose the biggest and reddest one. i enjoy this story, even after having heard it all these trillions of times, because it proves that my maximizing tendencies are inborn and probably not something i should beat myself up about. after all, it's not too much of a problem; i was always very pleased with my perfect strawberry, and still am), and the second is a talk with the hip-hop group the roots. how deliciously multifarious! he's covering education, developmental psychology and pop culture, all in one twelve-hour stretch, not to mention the many exciting things he'll have to say about projects still in the works. he also has a piece in the 8/29 issue of the new yorker on the shameful state of america's health care, and this piece in the 9/5 issue about the food industry's frankensteinian attempts to engineer a perfect cookie. *swoonyfawningsigh* top that, chad michael murray! who's hot stuff now, bright eyes? not you, you whiny, formulaic little wank! NOT YOU!!!

here's the thing... i can't go. but all of you in the manhattan area, this is your big chance to step up and prove to me that we really will be Best Friends Forever. you, my darlings, my zealously faithful minions, will have to stalk him in my stead. remember the rules: bring plenty of candy, maintain enough distance to keep things from turning creepy, and sing a pretty song. but not while he's talking, that would be rude. don't be rude. remember, you're my ambassadors. grant him your undivided attention until you're absolutely certain he's finished, tell him he's lovely, and pour some sugar on him.

but joon, you might ask, why can't you be there? don't you want to stand by your man? what kind of slouching, deadbeat excuse for a secret girlfriend are you, anyway?

well, i'll tell you. i will, too, and don't think i won't. here it comes, me telling you, so you'd better take a deep breath and grab hold of a large stationary object with a solid foundation, because you're about to get told. right now. i mean it. i hope you're sitting down, and if you're not, you can't say i didn't provide you with ample warning. i can't go because

*hrrrmmpphhhmmmuhkkkkn*








what? i'm sorry, did you not catch that? oh, well, what i said was--oh, oops, hello? hello? i can't quite hear you... these stupid tunnels, they get me every time. anyway, buy your tickets right away, and maybe you should look into some of the other events too, there might be someone else worth seeing. this sure is a long tunnel. I DON'T KNOW IF YOU CAN HEAR ME BUT I'M GOING TO HANG UP NOW. BYE.


update, 10:32 pm, 8/26/05: malcolm was just name-dropped on numb3rs, a show on cbs about another of my favorite nerds, this one a math genius. he's slightly less dreamy because he's imaginary, but my heart still went pitter-pat as the weight of the fact of one of them discussing the other right in my own bedroom gently warped the irridescent fabric of my silly little universe.

update, 10:47 am, 8/30/05: the precociousness lecture is already sold out. john updike's and ani difranco's events are not. i, um, well, we know how i feel about malcolm, but still... that's nuts.

aside, 1:24 am, 10/1/05: i see you, alissa quart. be polite and say hello.