This Afternoon In Drama

Authors Have a Way With Words

Just back from yet another wedding, and upon greeting my little person cousin I say, "I haven't seen you since I was little!"

Now I'm in my room at the Courtyard Marriott, fresh from popping my new zit in the conveniently mirrored closet.  Every time I get off a plane or return from a wedding, I have a zit that wasn't even a twinkle in my cheek's eye when I walked out the door.

Why are things so brief around here?
Because I believe I'm approximately fifteen days away from completing the third book, a.k.a. ze manifesto, and mentally I'm on another planet.

But physically:

(Except it is nighttime and dark.)

The Only Possible Explanations

For that performance Britney Spears just gave on the VMA's:

1.  She is heavily, heavily sedated.

2.  Like Samson, the sum total of her ability was in the hair that got chopped off in the Tarzana salon.

3.  This week Criss Angel made her brain disappear.

4.  She's now a Dadaist installation, but just hasn't told anyone, which is part and parcel of the Dadaism.

5.  Concealed zombie bite under sparkle bra.

Prayers Said Together

This came in the mail:

I'm having difficulty buying that that woman is one of my peoples, from the baggy, heathered henley/chino combination to the most Christian hairdo (it's the proportions) I've ever seen.  Her eldest son's is a close second- there's an indescribable way in which Jews feather their hair if and when they feather, and that is not it, but if you look at his "dad," you come closer to understanding (it's the texture).  Speaking of the dad, him I'll buy.  Let's call a nose a nose.  The kid in the tucked brown sweatshirt, maaaaaybe.  The little guy in the overalls- no way.  That one's got an Easter egg in his back pocket and momma just crushed it.

Yes, this family certainly needs some re-Jew-venation because the first shot didn't take.

I planned not to read out loud anymore this year, but Rob Roberge asked me if I would do the Writers Garage at Dipiazza's Lava Lounge in Long Beach, adding that the gig included a free dinner.  On top of that, he said I didn't have to read from my books.  If you're near the LBC (Snoop?) on Wednesday night, September the 12th, 8:00 P.M. I'll be reading the personal essay that 1. I won't let my parents ever read and 2.  that got kicked out of this anthology because I inadvertently insulted the editor on this blog.  Usually I feel bad for audience members because I think public readings are an inherently misguided concept, but this one I feel less badly about because you can eat pizza, or lasagna, or even chocolate mousse cake while listening, and it's much harder to be bored while delighting your tastebuds, which is what I discovered eating a pack of LifeSavers during a never-ending Yom Kippur service when I was wee.