After what feels like several weeks on planes, I’m finally back home for a little downtime, and figured I should post something on this blog that I update with a religious frequency of about every never. In recent weeks, I had the great pleasure to read at some amazing bookstores: The Tattered Cover in Denver, The Boulder Book Store in my hometown, Boulder, Colorado (and there were so many people from my past in attendance at that one that it almost, weirdly, felt like a wedding or something — all my high school teachers! — Bill Burns, Susan Hellie-Jacobs, Russell Croop, Bob Larue, Sue Max, Janet Orton…), then another homecoming of sorts in Iowa City, where I read at Prairie Lights, which of course felt like a veritable rite of passage of sorts… Then Chicago, Anderson’s in Naperville, and then an event supporting the journal run by my friends Adam Whitney Nichols and Samantha Hinds, Fortnight Journal (do check it out — Adam and Samantha are incredibly impassioned folks, and it’s a very cool thing they’re doing; and not just because I’ll be contributing some essays and other stuff to the next quarter of the journal; and I’m honored to be involved with anything in any way associated with Patti Smith).
Now, after a visit to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, by which I mean San Francisco, where I read at the fantastic bookstore Book Passage in Marin County, I’m back in action in New York. Or at least sitting around drinking coffee and struggling out from under a pile of unanswered emails and thinking about cleaning my sordidly messy apartment.
But for more plugs. I’m giving a couple of readings here in New York next week, to which, if you live here or near here, you should come. The first is at the official two-year anniversary of the Franklin Park Reading Series, officiated by Penina Roth, at Franklin Park in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. It starts at 8, on Monday the 14th. I’m reading with Jami Attenberg, Susan Shapiro, Ophira Eisenberg and Moshe Schulman, and I promise it’ll be a trip and a half.
And that ain’t all!
On Thursday, March 17th — that’s St. Patrick’s Day, honoring the rich heritage of my Irish ancestors, who left the Emerald Isle because they were starving, having run out of potatoes (See? ) — I’m reading at Pete’s Candy Store, in my own northside Brooklyn stomping grounds, along with J Milligan. You should absolutely come to that and do a few Irish Car Bombs with me and the ghost of Flann O’Brien, who may be making a secret celebrity guest appearance.
That’s the news. Goodnight and good luck.