It's Nice to Be Missed
I've been wicked sick the last couple days, and by the time I made it to my computer yesterday afternoon, it was almost 5 p.m. I had a lot of e-mails asking what piece I read for Lip Service West on Saturday night, and so, through my delirium, composed a hasty though long blog post detailing the night and the readers, which spun off into a touching and (dare I say?) optimistic post about the amazing cast of characters who surround me in San Francisco, how someday one of us will break through and get our work out there.
Then I accidently erased the entire post. Too tired to try again, I returned to bed.
Oh, and I read "Why I Hate Texas."
I am still battling this...cold? It's from my goddamn allergies. I've been getting shots for years but still have allergies. Last time I was tested, turns out I am allergic to just about everything--cats, dogs, llamas, goats, boar (not kidding), pollen and honeysuckle, success, laughter, hope, dreams--you name it, I'm allergic to it. Allergies get bad enough, and everything gets infected. And Joe goes down.
So I am pretty much dying this morning and don't have the heart to try to recreate last night's magic. At the same time, I called out two fellow readers from Saturday night, Tom Pitts and Greg Kim, and I'd at least like to get in that they kicked ass. Greg has already complied his memoirs in a book called White Dope on Punk, which you can read (excerpted) on his blog, Sit Down, Casper. I've read a couple selections and it's nothing short of brilliant. Tom, far as I know, hasn't put all his stories into a book yet. But he needs to. Tom's read twice for LSW (where we don't consider "nepotism" a dirty word), and both times he's been a hit. He's got a fine flair for storytelling and making the unlikeable endearing. So get to work, Tom!
I'll be back tomorrow once my body heals a bit. I'll try to be better.