And He Don't Wear a Dress*

4 February 2008
Somerville

To: Megan McArdle
From: Adam Clem
Re: Resignation

Megan,

Let me first apologize for my extended absence during the past past few months. I'd have felt foolish explaining it to you as it was happening, because my poor health was to blame. Admitting that fact wouldn't have been very butch, and we all know how fond you are of butch types. Some of the tall women I've known have, at one time or another, enjoyed feeling protected, girly and small next to a man, and if they couldn't find someone taller they'd settle for an aggressive fireplug who blew out his knee in school and wore Drakkar Noir without irony. I dislike those guys, because a lot of them like to control women, and those guys dislike me, because I'm tall and occasionally steal their girlfriends. We are united by our male susceptibility to retrograde attitudes about pain and illness, however. Again, please accept my apology for having gone silent.

Happily (and belatedly), I'm starting to feel better, and want to get back to my work soon. Let me get right down to it: I have plans, but they don't include you. Brad has graciously extended an invitation to me to come back here for visits, and if I ever have any evil new photoshops of you on hand, I'll take him up on his offer. Nonetheless, you should consider this a formal letter of resignation. It's true that I've other commitments and projects pulling me away, but there is something else involved and I owe it to you to be frank and transparent about it.

You make me sick.

You make me so sick that I don't go to your blog anymore, and probably never will...unless you're fired, in which case I might want to see your attempt to spin it, and see if any of your retainers start to show signs of suicidal ideation. Perhaps it'll be enough to read about it here. No, you don't care. I know that you do not give a flying fuck about me or what I do, but that, Megan, is about to change.

I've found a man for you.

This isn't bullshit, and it isn't some Clever Odysseus scheme to give you a loaded present. You do make me sick, but that doesn't mean that I think you're irredeemable, or that I'll hold back something you really ought to know about. This guy is someone I just recently got acquainted with, and when I suggested that I could introduce you to him he was a bit hesitant but overcame it quickly. He's not shy, but he is prominent in his field, has a high profile and values discretion. So, no full name up front, not yet, but his initials are G.P. He's a New Yorker; he lived most of his life overseas but recently established his home on Central Park East. He's younger than he looks. Not that he looks old, he's impressively fit with a swimmer's build and looks like he could bench a Piano. To say that he could make you feel small and girly would be an epic understatement. (There could be compatibility issues, but you know best.) He's been involved with oil exploration and satellite launches, shipping and infrastructure, but he's not about money. No, what immediately made me think of you was his shining brow, his leonine power and pure, unalloyed ruthlessness. Nothing is beyond his grasp, if he sees it he can touch it. Symbols of traditional authority exist only to be made irrelevant by him. To hell with Galt and Roark, this guy would take you on the hearth, then bring down the building with you still in it.

If you're interested in meeting him, all you need to do is drop a clue in your blog. When he sees it, he'll reach out, and believe me, he will see it. You might as well stand in an open field and wave your arms around, he sees so far.

Here's a picture of him.

Goodbye.

Sincerely,
Adam Clem

Thanks, Annie and Dave.