Vacationland

by John Hodgman

  It would be just a few stitches and then I’d go home. The nurse sat me down on a bench in an examination room. The paper on the bench was crinkly. She took my medical history. Having been a good and conscientious patient since my mom took me to my first allergist appointment, I knew the drill.

  Was I allergic to penicillin?

  No.

  Any drug sensitivities?

  I’ve always been told not to take ibuprofen, but I do not know why. Something to do with my asthma. It is an enduring mystery.

  Do I smoke?

  Not anymore.

  Do I drink?

  Yes.

  “Do you drink every day?”

  I had never heard this particular question in the medical rundown before. My inclination was to say no, I just drink socially. But socially means every day. Every evening my wife makes us martinis and we talk about our days as I cook dinner and our children ignore us. It is a great pleasure in our lives: this rediscovering of each other as our children age. It is our indulgence. But how do you explain that to a medical professional who clearly is screening for alcoholism? And then I realized I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to explain anything, because I am a grown-up.

  “Yes,” I said. “Every day.”

  And she looked up from her clipboard and said, “Yippee! Me too.” This is true.

  And then we made out for a little while.

  That part is not true—just one more fake fact for old time’s sake. What happened instead was a younger, shy guy who turned out to be an MD came back to poke a needle full of anesthetic around my arm-hole to prep for the stitches. Jonathan came back from the supermarket with milk and gin and my daughter. She got to come to my exam room to keep me company. I felt comforted by her. We took pictures of the wound to send to my wife, knowing that they would make her faint.

  Finally, Dr. Young Guy got out the curved little needle: a silvery modern miniature of the iron hook that got me. He used it to sew me up. He was nervous, and I wondered how many times he had done it before. My daughter watched closely with interest. The nurse watched him too, probably knowing that she could do a better job.

  Then Jonathan drove us back. Our rotten rock road had been plowed again by the time we made the turn off the main road. I saw our neighbor Clark, the retired pastor, on the rotten rock road. He was walking his dog. We waved to each other. I no longer consider my neighbors to be monsters but friends, and Clark seemed glad that we had come to spend some of the winter and the dark with him.

  It was only a little farther until we reached our driveway, and then we were home.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book grew out of stories that I first told in a basement. When I ran out of fake facts to tell, I panicked. It was Mike Birbiglia who suggested that I try what he did: book a bunch of nights at Union Hall in Brooklyn, get up on their basement stage and start talking, and see what comes out. The result was not just this book, but four and a half years of surprising evenings, two one-human touring shows, a sense that the future is not hopeless, and many, many new friends. Along with Mike, I thank the others who helped build that society and kept its secrets: Chenoa Estrada and Kelly Van Valkenburg, Olivia Wingate, Heather D, Marianne Ways, Bex Finch, Hannah Brandeis, Alex Nahas, and everyone at Union Hall.

  Later the show moved to a larger location, this one aboveground but closer to the Gowanus Canal. From this era I thank Trish Nelson, Jeffrey Mumm, Carly Henry, Jeff O’Neill, and all of the staff at the Bell House. Given my schedule, I will probably see all of you tomorrow. And to all the people who came to those shows and my many secret guests, I cannot name you all, so I will only say this: Hail Satan. You know what I mean.

  My family was welcomed into two incredible communities in New England, and sadly, this is how I repay them. So as only partial apology, I offer thanks in Massachusetts to David, Cindy and Erin LeBlanc, Sarah Reid and Matthew Latkiewicz, Colette Katsikas, Susan Shilliday and everyone at the Montague Bookmill, and all of the Belmontes: Chris, Melissa, Atticus, Enzo, and Pax. And in Maine I say thank you to Brad and Leslie Fletcher, Heidi Julavits and Ben Marcus, Brian and Karin Larkin, Molly and Eric Blake, Michael Sheahan and Michelle Keyo, Jonathan Lethem and Amy Barrett, Libby and Rick Chamberlain, Basha Burwell and Peter Behrens, Mike and Hannah Nowell, Nancy, Stephanie, and Tracy at the library, Lorinda and Bob at the store, all the children of all these people, everyone at the boatyard and the Skiff Club, Ayelet Waldman and All Those Chabons (my favorite band), and the Fresh Banana Man of the I-95 Kennebunk Service Plaza.

  Heidi Feigin made the live tour of Vacationland possible, and Ira Glass recorded the show, which recording I then gave to Kassie Evashevski, who has helped me so much and for so long. She gave that recording to Brian Tart at Viking, who listened to it and believed it could be a book. His trust in me has always been so meaningful and also probably unwise. To these, and to all the team at Viking: I am very grateful.

  Sean McDonald, let’s go to McManus again soon.

  Aaron Draplin surprised and delighted me by designing this book jacket, and Wyatt Cenac consulted on it, two geniuses whose decency and taste I am lucky to benefit from. And thank you, John Roderick, for coining the term “privilege comedy.”

  To Jonathan Coulton and Christine Connor and their children: please come back to Maine soon.

  To my dad, it was scary to know you were in the audience that time at the Wilbur Theater in Boston when I was talking about marijuana onstage. But I don’t know what I was worried about. You have always been so loving, forgiving, and supportive. I am grateful to you and Adele, and I love you.

  And as for my wife and children, I know them personally, so I don’t need to thank them here. They are just in the other room right now, and I am lucky that this is true.

  That is all.

  Jh, June 2017, Brooklyn

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John Hodgman is a writer, comedian, and actor.

  He is the author of three New York Times bestselling books—The Areas of My Expertise, More Information Than You Require, and That Is All. After an appearance to promote his books on The Daily Show, he was invited to return as a contributor, serving as the show’s “Resident Expert” and “Deranged Millionaire.” This led to an unexpected and, frankly, implausible career in front of the camera. He has performed comedy for the president of the United States, at the TED conference, and in a crypt in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York. He is the host of the popular Judge John Hodgman podcast, in which he settles serious disputes between real people, such as “Is a hot dog a sandwich?” He also contributes a weekly column under the same name to The New York Times Magazine.

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  * As proof of this, when she read an early draft of this book, my wife asked me not to use the word “challenging” because it is often read as “difficult and unlikable.” As usual she was quite right, and what’s more, she is not those things. So on the one hand her literal challenge was well founded. But come on, Kath.

  She also rejected “perfect,” and rightly so. That is both bad writing and a sentimental lie. So you can see I have struck that out.

  I refused to strike out “beautiful.”

  I do not wish to reduce our marriage to a footnote. But this is not a book about marriage or family, both because I respect my loved ones’ private lives, and because I am very selfish. This is a book about me, at what I hope is the beginning of the second half of my life and not the brief, final tenth.

  I am an only child to the end, I suppose. And at the end, we all are.

  I also do not wish to reduce our marriage to a footnote because I promised my publisher: no more footnotes. I
went footnote crazy in my previous books and for that reason, among others of my narrative experiments and fascinations, we still have not managed to create a clean, scalable electronic version of those books that one can just read.

  This is a straightforward book of straightforward stories that will flow easily into your electronic book reader and, I hope, your good estimation. So this will be the only footnote. Let its singularity speak to the importance of my wife and children and our lives together (despite all evidence here) and my gratefulness and dedication to them.

  For the depth of my feelings on this subject, I will quote a famous writer speaking of his own marriage. I know my own wife will approve, because this is her favorite author.

  “Sometimes I feel as though I were a diver who had ventured a little beyond the limits of safe travel under the sea and had entered the strange zone where one is said to enjoy the rapture of the deep.”

  Just Google it.