My friend Bill Monk (the best guitarist in Birmingham, the single-handed inventor of the modern personal computer search function - which, like Chowhound, seems inevitable from this vantage point - and the only other human being I know who largely remains Mr. Magoo-level foggy right until the point where he focuses, whereupon, on a good day, he can transform into a laser-guided archangel of wisdom and epiphany) has focused.
And he's coughed up the ideal summation of all that's happened to Chowhound since I sold it in 2005, right up to this very moment. Not in twenty four wordy essays, but in a single sentence. Ready?
The galling part is the same as it’s always been, “Yeah thanks but we got this” even as they’re literally shutting it down.Bingo. That's precisely it. "Yeah thanks but we got this." Not even punctuation. Perfect.
I'd rather walk painful roads and infrequently have a Bill Monk pipe up than live pain-free. Not just Bill, either. I abound in riches. At the risk of overwhelming the reader with thunderbolts, I'll also disclose the pithy note I received from John Thorne (every worthwhile food writer's favorite food writer) when hordes of people were inexplicably congratulating me over Calvin Trillin's profile: "Never be interviewed by someone more famous than you."
What did I ever do to deserve such blessings?
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