VIKING
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Copyright 2019 by John Hodgman
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hodgman, John, author.
Title: Medallion status : true stories from secret rooms / John Hodgman.
Description: New York : Viking, 2019. |
Identifiers: LCCN 2019024340 (print) | LCCN 2019024341 (ebook) |ISBN 9780525561101 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780525561118 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Hodgman, John. | FameHumor. | Authors, American21st centuryAnecdotes. | Television personalitiesUnited StatesAnecdotes. | Humorists, AmericanAnecdotes. | American wit and humor.
Classification: LCC PS3608.O47346 M43 2019 (print) | LCC PS3608.O47346 (ebook) | DDC 818/.603 [B]dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019024340
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019024341
Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the authors alone.
Cover design and illustrations by Aaron James Draplin, Draplin Design Co.
Author photograph: John Hodgman
Version_2
This one is dedicated to my dad.
Thank you for being OK with me having so many weird jobs.
Contents
Ive seen things you people wouldnt believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
ROY BATTY
To everyone whos ever been on television, cling to it. As long as you can.
JON STEWART
I hereby confirm that, in accordance with Section 43.A. of the Producer-Screen Actors Guild Codified Basic Agreement (SAG Agreement), as amended from time to time, you have notified me of the nude scene expected to be performed by me in the above Role for episode #108 of the Program (the Episode) for which I am engaged.
JOHN HODGMAN
Chapter One
OBLIGATORY MAINE CONTENT
If you read my previous book you know that I spend part of the year with my family in an unnamed coastal town in Maine. Of course the town has a name. I just kept it secret. But some of you figured it out anyway. Some of you sent me some very nice letters and postcards at my post office box there (PO Box 117, Unnamed Coastal Town, Maine, Zip Code Redacted). But none of you sent me creepy things, like boxes of moths, and none of you came to invade my home. So I cant write that book, unfortunately: the true story of you invading my home. That one would have been a huge bestseller. Now I have to write this one instead.
However, one young pair of John Hodgman fans did come to town. A nice young man and woman, plus their baby. They said they werent there precisely to see me, but they had read my book and were passing through town because of it. Its John Hodgman! they said, in that way Ive heard before when people recognize methat up-tilting mix of surprise and familiarity, as if to say: You exist! Youre not just a television ghost, but a real person, and here you are outside the library, in a fight with your wife!
My wife and I were fighting because we had just discovered that the passenger footwell of our Jeep had flooded with a hot reddish liquid. It was seeping into the footwell from unknown engine holes. (I dont know a lot about cars.) It smelled like burning tin foil and looked like blood and lymph, and I was freaking out.
Just call Libby and tell her we cant watch her children today, because we are afraid our Jeep is maybe bleeding to death, I was saying to my wife, loudly. That is very reasonable!
I was speaking with the kind of shameful sharpness that gets in my voice when I know I am powerless. If you had told me that in fact the heater core had failed and the Jeep blood was in fact engine coolant, it would have sounded equally supernatural to me, dangerous and unsolvable. I also knew my argument was futile. Our friend Libby has two little children, a boy and a girl, who are very cute. As our own children have aged, my wife has become addicted to these other children. They are among the select group of young children that she follows on Instagram. Thats what you need to know, parents who post pictures of their children on Instagram. My wife is stalking them. The Jeep could explode and she would find a way to get over to Libbys and take care of them.
Thats when the young couple approached us. They said, Its John Hodgman! and then instantly regretted it, once they saw the panic and shame on my face.
Yes, its me, I said. Im sorry.
They accepted my apology, and we chatted. I dont remember the young mans story, but the young woman apparently had created an illustration of me for an article in a newspaper that I also dont remember. Also I dont remember their names. My wife and I admired their baby, which was one of the cuter babies (not all babies are cute. Sorry, babies). They asked about the house in town where the Famous Author had lived, and I told them that it has a new owner. I happily revealed its secret location to them. As youll see in this book, there are no secrets anymore.
(If you dont know what Famous Author or house Im talking about, just read my previous book, Vacationland. There, I tricked you into buying it.)
I was glad to talk to them. I enjoy being seen and recognized. So many people go through life without being seen at all, not even by their own family, so I know what a gift it is. And frankly it doesnt happen often these days, as I am not on television that much anymore. So if the young couple are reading this, this is to say thank you. Im sorry I do not remember your names or where you published that illustration. I was pretty high on engine coolant at the time.
And if you are reading this, thank you, too. This story is not an invitation to come see me in Maine. I still prefer that you stay away. But thank you for letting me know I can trust you.
There will be no more Maine content in this book.
Chapter Two
NUDE RIDER
Not long ago I was still on television sometimes. I was appearing on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart less and less frequently, but I had a lot of guest-acting gigs on some prestigious shows. I played a variety of mustache creeps: a scheming literary rival; a deranged fan who claims he legally owns an actress whom he has been stalking; an evil FBI agent who interrogates a beautiful young woman and makes her cry; a psychiatrist who pulls his patients teeth from their heads because he thinks insanity lives in the gums. He also pulls out the teeth of his own children.
For a while, this typecasting bothered me, and I fought against it. I refused the role, for example, of a man who keeps pregnant women in his basement so he can sell their babies. This role was very upsetting, in part because it had been a straight offer to me. The producers didnt even need me to audition to know that I was