I wish to apologize for my speech this morning at SXSW. Had I known that my revelations would send shockwaves through the weblogging commnity, I would have, of course, been honest and forthright about the night I spent with Nicolette Sheridan playing touch football and the resultant FCC investigations.
But no matter. Now that you all know that Dr. Mabuse is an online persona that I adopted out of manic depression and that Edward Champion does not in fact exist, now that you know that Champion was modeled after an autistic cabana boy who spent twelve years of his life trying to read William Gaddis’ The Recognitions, only to die at the age of thirty-one while cleaning an Olympic-sized swimming pool with a small toilet brush, I realize that I will have to return my Bloggie Award for Lifetime Achievement While Staring at a Laptop.
I can accept this. I am a prevaricator and a married woman. I have deceived you. And I say again, without a jot of guilt, that I am, in fact, Ayelet Waldman and have been engaged in morose thoughts since 1995.
All this time, I thought I could make a solid living writing Mommy-Track Mysteries and have a quiet life of privilege contemplating the benefits of muesli. But when I started this blog and the other one, I got a little carried away. I couldn’t stop describing how good the sex was with Michael every time he came home from writing a comic book movie. You would too if you saw how nice his ass was. I think we can all agree that Pulitzer Prize winners, particularly ones that you’re married to, can make anyone feel all tingly.
Hopefully, this does not mean the end of Return of the Reluctant. My therapist has suggested that turning this weblog over to the Unitarian Universalists is a start. Dennis, a suicidal young man who first saw God in a pastrami sandwich, has agreed to step in as we all come to terms with the disturbing truth. I hope you can all invite Dennis into your lives as readily as you accepted “Dr. Mabuse.”
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