john hodgman and i are, like, so totally going steady

john hodgman, author of the tinkle-inducing the areas of my expertise, whom i have professed my boundless love for previously, has finally reciprocated, albeit in an infinitely subtle code. hopefully my coworkers will forgive me for revealing the following trade secret to all four of you devoted readers: as those of us in the publishing business (dina, back me up) know, "1,000 copies" is an encrypted form of "yes, we ARE soulmates!" like malcolm gladwell, john would prefer to keep our love a secret so as to preserve the peace of my noncelebrity home life, and perhaps also to keep his wife from packing up his children and cats and heading for europe. no need to worry, darling, your secret is safe with us. i mean, i've been babbling about malcolm for, gosh, years now, and no one's paying any attention to that. especially not malcolm. *sigh*

anyway. if you are interested in seeing what all my fuss is about and you don't live too too far away, i recommend coming to see john and his guitar-strumming platonic companion at the brookline booksmith tomorrow night. yes, this is the scene of my now-infamous palahniuk debacle, so along with the chance to let john hodgman make you laugh until you pee a little, you'll be able to tell your friends that you were in an actual historic juniper pearl landmark, and they'll be like, whatever, and you'll be like, no, seriously, dude, i was right there, and they'll be all jealous and shit, and you'll be like, damn straight.

oh, and the science of sleep is playing at the coolidge corner theatre, right across the street, so it's win-win-win. hooray! we win! happy-making all around.

1,000 copies to each and every one of you, and a million tiny cupcakes besides.