I was listening to Mitch Hedberg's first comedy cd in the car yesterday, so when I was lying in bed at night, I was thinking about how readings are like pancakes. To paraphrase Mitch about the pancakes, the first one's good and then after that you're fucking sick of them.
Maybe the thought above, lingering in my head before I drifted off, was why my body woke me up at 4:50 a.m. to puke. Other possibilities include a.) sympathetic puking (which is sort of like sympathetic lactation), since Brett puked yesterday b.) having eaten some bad food, or c.) my stomach telling me to up the ante at my readings. If Chuck Palahniuk throws fake vomit at his attendees, it's possible my nausea was urging me to get competitive and hurl real stuff.
Anyway, I'm reading in Orange County tonight. Yet again. And yet again at Book Soup, except this one is inside a bona fide shopping plaza, making this my first authorial appearance inside of an official mall. I wish I was competing with the Nordstrom's half-yearly sale, so then I could have a quiet night and just sit and sign some store copies and not feel sick.