When I met A.J. Jacobs this evening, author of The Know-It-All and The Year of Living Biblically and fellow blogger, the first thing I did was reach out to shake his hand. This staggers the imagination. It falls in line with doing stupid things like reminding yourself fourteen hundred times to pick up your phone on your way out of the house, or make the deposit at the bank before going home, or buy a bag of ice when you get to the cashier. You tell yourself over and over and over again, but you forget anyway. (By the way, when you get to the car after grocery shopping and realize you've forgotten milk, why does it seem easier to come back later and live for a week without milk than to walk from the parking lot into the grocery store and buy the stuff? Or is this just me?)I first heard about Jacobs' book, The Year of Living Biblically, on NPR a year ago. I was enthralled and intrigued (which is kind of redundant, but I really was) since I was at a point in my life when I was beginning to take Biblical teaching--specifically the words of Jesus--very seriously, so I stopped immediately at my local bookstore to see if it was available. It was, but not at a price I could afford at the time, so I decided to come back for it later, but not before reading a few words here and there. Right away, several themes of the book struck me; first, Jacobs' willingness to learn and appreciate something new, and second, his desire to stick to something whole-heartedly for an entire year. I think I could commit to, oh, maybe eating and breathing for a year, but I'm not sure I'm all that great at committing to anything else for any extended period. I'm not even good at commiting to buying a book that I purposefully drove to the bookstore to purchase.
But I was able to pick up Jacobs' book The Know-It-All, about his determination to read through the Encyclopaedia Brittanica from A to Z (or, more precisely, from a-ak to zywiec), which smacked of the kind of wacky, immersive thing I would do but just hadn't thought of or had the guts to try and pull off. Reading what he had to say about his experience was like reading the book I would have written if I'd had half of his gumption and fortitude. Better yet, it was like reading what I would have found interesting and told people about without having to actually wade through all forty-four million words of the thing. It was like I outsourced my encyclopaedia reading to A.J. Jacobs.
And some of the things I gleaned from the book didn't really have anything to do with the encyclopaedia. Some of the most fascinating tidbits came from Jacobs' honesty about his own hangups. The transparency he allowed made me feel like I knew him, that I could really hang with him, that we could understand each other.
Insert creepy stalker music here.
But seriously, I thought that we'd have a lot of things to talk about if I ever met this guy in a conversational situation. We could discuss similar interests in historical quirkiness, or I could tell him how much I appreciated his chapter on school and the teacher's discussion of war. And one thing I absolutely knew, without a shadow of a beard, was that if we ever met, I would not, under any circumstances, shake his hand.
It's not because of any strange hand-habit that Jacobs wrote about in his book which turned me off from touching him. It had more to do with the fact that Jacobs describes himself as a hypochondriac and germaphobe, and I wanted to honor his hangups by not exposing him to my germs.
So, when the opportunity arose for me to actually meet this author, who would be within two-hours' drive time discussing his book The Year of Living Bibically, I ordered the tome from Amazon, read as much as I could digest (not in the Jeremiah eating-a-scroll sense, of course) in three weeks, which was to page 120 (what? It took the man a year to live it. I figure taking a year to read it is okay, too), and bought my tickets. As I dragged my dear husband along to be my driver, cameraman and general roadie, I instructed him firmly, "If you meet him, you must NOT shake his hand. He's a germaphobe." My husband nodded solemnly.
As soon as we entered the building, I saw Jacobs standing near the doorway. To my credit, I didn't rush him, although I did suggest to my husband that he could follow him into the men's room and introduce himself there. Jacobs couldn't soon forget that moment.
Insert the second movement of the creepy stalker music.
The presentation was decent, though it seemed to me that .9 of the audience hadn't read the book, because they laughed at all of the verbatim parts he quoted as if they'd never heard them before. I waited until the end of the question and answer session, mostly because I found it annoying that people kept shooting their hands up before he was finished answering the previous question. "I'll wait until they're all questioned-out," I reasoned. Unfortunately, the time was up before that happened. I figured I'd ask him my question, which pertained to what decisions he had made regarding the upbringing of his son (a topic he discusses in Living Biblically) when I would meet him at the book-signing table. And not shake his hand.
And, sure enough, he was at the said book-signing table. Since the last shall be first and the first shall be last, I was fairly close to the beginning of the line; I had been at the very back of the auditorium, right near the doorway where he was seated.
I knew I was going to have a few things to say, so I did, in all fairness, offer my space to the woman behind me who made a comment that she was in a bit of a hurry. She only had two books to sign. I had four. She declined, but at least I tried. It was in keeping with the whole golden rule theme. Having said that, I actually do try to live out the golden rule on a regular basis. It's as close as I can come to Living Biblically.
I saddled my husband with the camera and my other junk, instructing him to take several pictures. "And take them from slightly above, please. A modified myspace profile pic, except you're taking it and not me. I don't want a picture of all of my chins."
I was so busy giving photography lessons that I was actually caught off-guard when it came my turn to meet Jacobs. Instinctively, I stuck out my hand, and he reached for it. Almost as instinctively, I yanked my hand back before he had a chance to touch it. Unbelievable. After all of the reminders I had given myself and my husband, I had actually attempted to shake A.J. Jacobs' hand. But all was redeemed. I apologized, assured him that I wasn't actually going to touch his hand, because I know...I know...what? How he feels about germs? I don't know what I actually said, but I think he got the point, and I think he was grateful.
But here's the thing. I'm so accustomed to doing things a certain way, to meeting someone and performing the obligatory handshake, that I was taken aback. I had no idea what to do or say. Speechless, I stammered, "I'm a little lost, now. I don't know what to do if I don't shake your hand...."
At that point, he noticed my camera-wielding husband. Jacobs stood, and muttered that he was allowed to put his hand on my back, possibly as a consolation for not shaking my hand, and Bo took the shot.
Another brief exchange ensued while he signed my books in which he seemed genuinely interested, mostly, I'm sure, because I was one of the first people in line and not the 56th, though stamina and endurance do seem to be two of Jacobs' traits. Still, he really did seem interested. Here he is hanging on my every word. Ignore, please, the multiple chins. On me, that is. Mr. Jacobs' chins are just fine.
See the stamina? See the endurance? See the genuine interest? See the eye contact (Jacobs actually says that he has to work on *not* maintaining eye contact so that people don't think he's a psycho who keeps a cup of noses in his freezer)? Aren't these great traits? As are charm, compassion, humor and honesty, which Jacobs' also seems to possess, from my limited stalk...er, reading. Through his books and the answers to the questions presented by tonight's audience, I came to realize something about Jacobs that he may not recognize in himself, something that, in fact, he disclaimed. A.J. Jacobs is a prophet in his own right. What I took away from my evening listening to him was that he is a seeker of truth, a seeker of wisdom. He's not interested in retribution, ridicule, or setting people straight. "There are enough books out there that take the other side to task. I went into this wanting to understand." And what he learns, he shares. A speaker of truth, of wisdom, of understanding. A prophet.
Once I had left the building and climbed into my car, I opened my copy of Living Biblically to read a passage about Ecclesiastes (Jacobs' favorite book of the Bible) to my husband, flipping past the inscription. I'd almost forgotten it was there, so I flipped back and read it.
If he'd have known, he'd also have written, "And thanks for not accosting me in the men's room."
Insert final movement of creepy stalker music.
