An Open Letter To Gene Weingarten

Gene,

I am highly flattered that in your latest column you still find the four-year-old post from my lightly-read now-dormant blog such a supreme irritant, although you seem to have missed my retraction of your ass-hatted-ness. I do find the claim that I am obsessed with you a bit overwrought. In 877 posts I managed to mention you perhaps a dozen times, in about half of them just parenthetically. They can all be found here.

Despite your delusion that harassing customer service representatives is in the least bit humorous, you were one of the most talented writers at the Washington Post. While I don't begrudge you either of your Pulitzers, I found your article about the Alaskan fishing village one of the most poignant and moving stories I have ever read and far more award worthy than a buskering stunt or a profile of a birthday party performer with a (SPOILER ALERT) gambling problem. I'm sorry you no longer write those excellent long form pieces and choose instead to spend your dodderage writing doggerel.

Frankly, I rarely get around to the Sunday WaPoMag now that it is thinner than the accompanying Parade insert unless I remember to read Dilbert. In my time as a boodler at the Achenblog I have declared that there is no level of celebrity too low to not have a cult of personality and with your newfound rivalry with FishbowlDC, you exemplify that principle (Not that I take their side. Taking weekly potshots at a Pulitzer-winning columnist past their prime is pretty low hanging fruit.).

While I don't throw virtual panties like the rest of your now defunct Yahoo fan group, I don't begrudge you your fame. Just learn to take the downside a little more graciously. Not everyone will always lavish praise just as some blogs will start a rap star beef with your Shalitesque face. But I am honored to remain your bête noire and I wish you many more oddly colored bowel movements to tweet about.

P.S.
Your father-son bonding experience of a comic strip is occasionally funny. Just don't let that smart-mouthed moppet grow up too fast. You would hate to break the rules of comic strip temporal dynamics.