The Areas of My Expertise

(2005) by John Hodgman. Published by EP Dutton. 229 pages.

Reviewed 4 April 2007

I’m a member of that pitiful subset of human beings who has lost romantic partners because of a sense of humor that’s often too obscure. I just can’t help it. If I’m in mixed company and the urge strikes me, I’m just going to make up a story about how Judd Nelson actually starred in a three-movie biopic of the life of Grover Cleveland, or the fact that the expression “No Way, José” is actually a quote from “Don Quixote.” I can understand why this sort of joke bothers some people, who feel they’ve been taken in by a deadpan delivery or they’ve somehow made a fool of themselves by not spotting the joke right away. The truth is, the impetus of this sort of joke is not at all to try and put other people down or take the piss out of anyone’s gullibility. Rather it’s a pure creative instinct; it’s rooted in the yearning for a world that’s more anarchic and interesting. Or perhaps (I like this theory better) it’s an edifying attempt to open people’s eyes to the fact that the world actually IS far more anarchic and interesting than we all tend to assume, that in fact it’s only our backward desire to only discuss the 100% truth (especially as it applies to the all important topics of Judd Nelson’s filmography and the depiction of President Cleveland on the silver screen) that makes the world seem so dull and predictable.
Still, after a few dozen regrettable breakups, you learn to sort of keep this kind of humor reserved for those who’ll appreciate it.
And when you find someone who shares it, it’s a happy day indeed. Eddie Izzard’s early stand-up comedy is an example (consider his routine about the end of the Trojan War in “Glorious”), but Izzard is such a master of maintaining a rapport with the audience that he often cuts short his exegeses into surrealist territory. The all-time masterpiece in this sort of performance is the Firesign Theater’s “Dear Friends,” a collection of radio sketches that includes a used car ad as presented by Aleister Crowley; a cheerful Mexican children book about racism in the Los Angeles Police Department; an interview with a man who breaks bricks with his head; and an infomercial about mutated blue chinchillas.
And then this week a friend introduced me to John Hodgman, and I laughed so hard it’s a sin. Hodgman (who appears as the PC in a popular series of ads for Apple computers) has concocted the best collection of shameless poppycock I’ve ever seen in print. He presents the book as an almanac, but he’s not satirizing almanacs so much as he is poking fun at the very idea of serious information. The topics are not ripe for satire; this isn’t a wacky spoof about George W. Bush or a topical riff on the rise of the Internet. This is a spoof about facts. Facts about the United States (Alaska’s nickname is “Land of Moustaches”; Jackie Kennedy used to hunt voles on a single speed bicycle; for a while in the early 20th century the US Senate was taken over by a cannibalistic raven disguised as a German) facts about submarines (the favorite food aboard a submarine is cocktail onions, but sub-mariners call them “cockions” in order to conserve oxygen) and facts about crime (a common con routine involves convincing the mark that you need money to sponsor a team for a Lenny & Squiggy impersonation contest).
The real joke here is the way we’re taught to deal with facts. We’re taught to either get very wonky with them—to take them in total earnest—or to decide that they’re not worth a fig. The dichotomy between expertise and apathy is an ugly and (I believe) unnecessary divide in our culture. That’s why it can be so much fun and so liberating to sit and read someone like Hodgman, who spends 229 pages gleefully being wrong about everything.
You can really pick up this book at any point and find something funny within a few lines, but the “point” is maybe best encapsulated in the way he summarizes the plot of “The Muppet Movie”: “This is a movie about puppets who go to Hollywood to become stars. . . .When they reach Hollywood, they begin making a movie about the movie the viewer has just been watching. The puppets build plywood simulacra of props that, earlier in the film, were presented as real. Then the roof of the soundstage smashes in and a powerful rainbow shines down and obliterates everything, including a plywood imitation of the fake rainbow that had appeared in the first scene. . . . the puppets then look directly into the camera and instruct the viewer that ‘life’s like a movie: write your own ending.’”