Dear Jonathan Safron Foer

I was working at my desk today assembling one of the care packages I'm famous for when I reached for the rubbber bands. The tiny plastic case is almost empty. It took me a second to remember why.

I had just finished your second book. The critics said it was too precious-I could see that but it worked for me. When I saw you were coming for a signing I was excited and made plans to attend. But if it really didn't go well, did it? You remember.

There were actually 3 events going on that night. Jayson, the events guy, made several announcements about them, considerately I thought, in case there were people who planned to attend more than one. I guess that didn't make you feel special though, did it? When you went up to the podium to begin the event I was very impressed with your VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR vibe. In 14 years of bookselling I've met lots of authors who've written lots more than 2 books who didn't have that vibe.

Then you spilled water on your crotch. On a taller man it would have hit his belly but you're probably used to being short by now. After that you kind of looked like a boy who forgot the Hebrew at his bar mitzvah. You tried to make a joke but it didn't quite come off, did it? It was one of those angry jokes people make when they really want to yell and stamp their feet.

So you began to read. But someone forgot to tell the cafe person to hold that smoothie order until after you were done. You didn't appreciate the blender noise much, did you? You're a New Yorker, I thought you be used to noise. My e-buddy, Craig, tells me you have a millon dollar brownstone in Brooklyn. Guess it's a lot quieter there.

After the reading came the Q&A. I thought you'd like all the young co-eds asking you questions about your method and comparing you favorably to Jonathan Lethem and Mark Haddon. But it turns out you don't like Jonathan Lethem and you don't appreciate your protaganist being compared to the one in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. You really turned those well intentioned comments around. You're really good at that.

At last came the autographing. I got in line in the back. When I reached you you signed my book and I gave you my gift-a hand decorated vellum envelope full of cunning Japanese rubber bands shaped like animals. I remember the conversation well:

(me) "After reading your book I thought these would not go unappreciated."
(you, flatly) "No, they won't go unappreciated."
(me, taken aback but continuing on) "Thank you for creating Max, I really enjoyed meeting him. If I were going to have a kid, I'd want him to be like Max."
(you) "You don't get to pick."

Insert stunned silence here. Even the author escort was surprised and she drove Chuck Paliniuak around..

I collected my book and left your vicinity. Your I'M AN IMPORTANT AUTHOR WHO IS NOT GETTING THE RESPECT DUE HIM FROM THIS CRAPPY EVENT vibe was giving me a headache.

Now as I look at my nearly empty box all I can think is


Send them back you pompous jerk!


signed ,
Sam in Ann Arbor