I was adding axe murderers to this draft even as sarameg was typing. It's the inevitable axe murderer crosspost. I think Allyson would kick ass on the Daily Show, plus we could all meet Jon Stewart vicariously.

My publicist thinks you ought to have me come on your show to babble about online communities and how axe murderers from the internet met, survived and changed the world, despite what their mothers' said.

It may be that she thinks you and your audience will enjoy my book. Some people think it has a geekish charm and shows what social networking on the web is really all about.

It may also be that she owes you a favor and feels that my remarkable shortness will make you appear tall and Clooneyesque, and even a wee New York political satirist deserves to feel like Clooney once in his life. Or it may have something to do with the fact that people have compared my essays to Sarah Vowell's, and you and Sarah always seem to have a raucous good time when she drops by.

Please do not let Sarah Vowell see the above paragraph or she will totally kick my ass.

Actually, the only reason I'm writing is to get your awesome rejection letter...can you sign it personally? Ira Glass didn't sign the TAL one, and I was totally bummed.

Hee.

At least there was no rifle this time. That worried me.

Allyson, can't hurt to try. Well, ok , the worst is how YOU take a possible rejection. And yeah, that would suck and I'd rather you not have that. But hey, hon? You wrote a freaking book. It's being published. It's good. If that isn't taking a risk... I'm very proud of you. And when you come out here, in addition to Atomic, I know one other independent bookstore owner and mentioned you to the people at the nearby B&N and eyes lit up. So there.

Oh and Jesse? Don't make me. Cowboy hat. (actually, isn't yahoo forcing a move to other sites? Which means those shots may go bye bye online.... thank god.)

I THANKSGIVING WITH AXE MURDERERS!

If one of your crew doesn't claim this as a tag in November, I will be very sad.

I mean, I'm flattered that they think there's some sort of shot, but I'm sitting over here on the reality stoop.

In which case, feel free to write any whack-ass thing you want. Since you've got no shot, you have nothing to lose by turning the silly or the snarky or whatnot right up to eleven. The pressure's off.

And I know this is all very easy for me to say, who has nobody's expectations at stake at all, so feel free to tell me to shit in my hat and wear it.

That's actually brilliant, JZ. I mean, I don't want to be disrespectful, of course, but I was angry at having to pour what's left of my brain for today into this weirdness.

I'm proud, too, sarameg. I know it probably sounds like I'm putting myself down, but I'm a complete nobody with a small run of a little book and my expectations are about selling the little run, using as much internet publicity as I can muster so that maybe I can sell the next book without struggling.

I think it's a more realistic goal to get a review from bookslut, or maybe even wired, and I'm willing to shoot for that moon.

Also, I understand how boring I am with my inability to shut up about all of this shit. I promise to not haunt you all ten years from now with coulda/woulda/shoulda groaning.

Allyson, I was actually thinking of you as someone like one of those figure skaters you sometimes see in the Olympics -- the serious front-runners for the medals will often skate gorgeous and engaging but not thrilling programs, and sometimes the most exciting moment comes from some teenager from Latvia or someplace who's placed in the top 20 by sheer dumb luck and is out there going "WOO! I have no chance in hell of getting a medal, so I'm just gonna go for broke because it's totally nuts that I made it this far at all, so who cares if I fall on my ass?" They're nobody and they know it, and it somehow gives them the freedom to cut loose in a way that the serious contenders can't.

So, you know, go you! Go write yourself a triple lutz! Or words to that effect.

I promise to not haunt you all ten years from now with coulda/woulda/shoulda groaning.

Can't keep that promise if you don't write Jon-Boy a letter.

Dear Jon Stewart,

My publicist is under some weird delusion that if I write you a personal note, you will be charmed, take pity on me, and have me on your show to talk about my book, Will the Vampire People Please Leave the Lobby?.

I’m supposed to tell you that the audience for my book is epic in size, but if that were actually the case, they’d be telling me to write to Oprah, instead. My book is about internet communities, and so I can pretty much assure you that the audience for my book will at the very least be savvy enough to watch me make an ass of myself on your show on YouTube.

What else? Well, I’m awfully short and pudgy, so you can rest assured that if you ever had me on your show, you’d be the most attractive person on stage.

Actually, the only reason I’ve agreed to write this note is to get your awesome rejection letter...can you sign it personally? Ira Glass didn't sign my rejection letter from This American Life, and I was totally bummed.

With vast amounts of respect and love,

Allyson Beatrice

YOU ARE ATTRACTIVE!! And also, I feel compelled to add that neither short NOR pudgy = unattractive!

so yeah, I find that part 1) untrue 2) too self-deprecating.

I promise to not haunt you all ten years from now with coulda/woulda/shoulda groaning.

Dude, (goddamn my freshman hippy roommate who implanted that in my vocab) I'd be bored if I didn't have smoke breaks with you if we end up ghosts.

I must admit, I get a buzz of nerves telling people with stores I've got this friend? Who wrote this book? Andshemightcomevisitandifshedoesandumdoyouwannaher?

I really hope I'm more articulate than that. But I'm not.

oy, now you.

you are articulate. and not nearly the dorkmeister you see yourself as. you also do a damn good job of taking care of yourself.