Two frantic phone messages and an email from an eminent journalism scholar demanding my presence at a top-level journalism conference because of my wonderful book on Stephen Crane.
My expertise, my erudition, my lambent style march before me proclaiming my worth.
Except that's another Michael Robertson. It's not me.
Make that It is not I. I won't be your sad clown, Mr. Big Shot.
And, no, I can't point you in the right direction. I'm the dirty analogy guy and don't you forget it.
Hello? Hello?
P.S Pretty funny. In the first version of this, I spelled eminent "imminent." I must have been thinking about war with Iran.
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