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Inside: Cultural Sausage. ~ Ludic Lists. ~ Skullbucket. Outside: Very sincere thanks to all who came out to
see me read and who were hospitable and friendly to me in Philadelphia.
"funny Arab clip art" "She-Hulk naked pictures" "who do I put this thing together?" "swastika headbands" "Rouge the Bat boobs" "quotes from famous mobsters" "teeth plaque conspiracy Metallica" "what political side are you?" |
10.11.2004
FRIDAY. Awoke early in the A.M., did some last-minute packing, and headed to Midway Airport (slogan: "We no longer look like some guy's apartment from 1976!") to catch a flight to Philadelphia. Had my first-ever nasty encounter with airport security when I was intensely stared at by the non-unionized Transportation Safety Administration workers for having to go through the vitally important rigamarole of taking of my belt, wristband, wallet, shoes, coat, and overshirt. I also had to turn my laptop on and off, and when I arrived in Phila I found a delightful note from the TSA in my suitcase informing me that they had deemed it necessary to paw through my belongings in search of terror gear. Flight was otherwise uneventful except for the constantly complaining man in the seat next to me who seemed to believe that every minor delay prior to takeoff was specifically designed to infuriate him. Took cab from airport to city, passing by unnerving number of battleships harbored in the Delaware River. Arrived at apartment of Manning Krull, my host for the next three days, who had left the keys at a nearby pizza place as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. Noted presence of witch store next to Manning's place. Called Manning on phone to make plans, later met him at park for walk, pleasant desultory conversation, trip to convenience store called "Wawa", and directions around and about. Attempted to go to Mutter Museum but got lost. Ended up engaging in supremely nerdy activity of going to Hall of Records to read old historical documents. Stopped at giant government-operated liquor store and bought bottle of Laphroig. Walked around in historical district, saw woman dressed in colonial period costume sitting on steps of Independence Hall eating mini-pretzels. Had pizza with Manning, discussed art and wrestling. Went to menacing-looking river and gazed with horror into the dark heart of New Jersey. Headed to the Tritone for first 215 Festival event, the 215 Variety Hour. Neal Pollack and Whitney Pastorek acted as hosts. Whitney extremely nerve-wracked due to technical difficulties. Met Neal for first time, had baffling conversation about Phoenix, attempted to convince him I was not crazy. Met festival organizer Mary Richardson Graham and taciturn husband Patrick. Neal Pollack interviewed Julian Rubinstein about his new book, The Ballad of the Whiskey Robber, but Rubinstein inexplicably did not read from book, lending the activity the frustrating air of an infomercial where the product is never shown. Canadian beret-wearer Jennifer Amey sat at table and engaged in delightful convo with Manning and I, then read entertaining excerpts from her forthcoming novel. Darin Strauss told rambling story about recent birth of niece, played hamfisted Van Halen licks on acoustic guitar, then read entertaining piece. Emily Flake attempted to show cartoons, but due to aforementioned technical difficulties, was forced to read the cartoons allowed while Whitney recited dialogue from them and third participant held up laptop with cartoons on screen; otherwise enjoyable cartoons somewhat diminished by this unfortunate circumstance. Amy Sohn expressed displeasure at microphone, read novel excerpt that involved graphic descriptions of joyless sex with heavily accented New York bohemian. Amanda Stern exhorted crowd to purchase feminine hygeine products for her. Neal Pollack returned to sing filthy, energetic song in French about eating habits of New Yorkers. Song bore strong resemblance to Bad Brains' "Redbone in the City". Band Les Sansculottes, New Yorkers (again with the New York) posing as French persons, sang rowdy songs. Met a number of other fine individuals, engaged in enlightening, interesting and generally oopsy conversation. Was quite drunk by this point. Went home, took massive shit in host's bed, went to sleep. SATURDAY. Arose entirely too early. Did some writing, attempted in vain to make new laptop function on wireless network, gave up in frustration and watched "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" DVDs while wishing I was zooted. Walked around South Street area gawking at hipsters. Went to breakfast with Manning and his girlfriend Tami Mahoney. Walked around Philadelphia's historical districts and saw a number of interesting sites, none of which are particularly interesting to describe. Unexpectedly encountered RJ White in city of four million people, but due to ridiculous security measures around Liberty Bell (origin of our nation's freedom), we could not cross an eight-foot-wide brick street to say hello to him. Departed for second 215 Festival event, the WebLitMagSmallPress Showcase at the Tritone, at which I would be reading. Began drinking what would prove to be a mind-crushingly huge number of Bombay Sapphires. Susan Henderson, who was a lovely person, read a strong piece. Sandy Crimmins read short poem about gardening and dislike of current president. Dan Kennedy rocked the party with the funniest reading of the showcase. Pia Z. Ehrhardt read very nice short story about adultery. Kristin McGonigle, also a swell person, read very funny story about woman who spreads graffito-borne rumor that ex-boyfriend has herpes. Host Mary Richardson Graham read delightful piece in dulcet tones. Todd Pruzan read very excellent story with boffo ending. Pictures were not taken of Michelle Orange. Christian Hawkey was tallest poet of all time. Allison Weaver was tallest non-poet of all time. My own reading was for the most part warmly received although I screwed the pooch on the ordering and was not so good at presentation. By now I was absolutely destroyed from drink. Stumbled home in alcoholic stupor and stopped at local Whole Foods to buy food in desperate attempt to sober up. Accompanied an increasingly unwell Manning to Ish Kabibbles to partake in cheesesteak. Departed for Indre Studios for the third 215 event, the Little Gray Book Lecture No. 29: "How To Communicate without the Use of Wires", hosted by the insanely funny John Hodgman. Hodgman was a delight throughout and called me out on the carpet for coughing during a moment of silence. Paul Tough read piece about his father's quest for extraterrestrial intelligence. Brendan Greeley discussed American-born German shock-jock Amok Alex, a.k.a. Professor Doctor Party. Brett Martin read outstanding piece in which he petitions God to allow him to win money in gambling games, triumph in fishing contests, and catch foul balls. Jonathan Coulton sang highly amusing song in which he called upon the heavens to impoverish his friends. Starlee Kine barely got through story about haunted Ramada Inn in Wisconsin. Free Irish whisky was made available to attendees, most of which was single-handedly consumed by Dennis DiClaudio. Engaged in witty badinage via walkie-talkie with Mr. Hodgman. Returned home for enjoyable albeit brief conversation with RJ White and Manning's roommate Ben. Went to sleep. SUNDAY. No 215 activity due to combination of apathy and confusion. Had more breakfast with Manning and Tami. Drove around in unsuccessful quest for brain molds and Halloween costume components. Spent many, many hours in Manning's room while he drew comics and I edited comically overlong piece for next issue of online culture magazine. Went to dinner at outstanding Italian restaurant called San Carlo where waitress was possessed by demons that made her talk funny. Returned to Manning's place to discuss cooking, racism, sex, hipsters, horrible injuries, alcohol, and probably robots with Ben, Tami, Manning, and Sean. Stayed up entirely too late talking about immigration law with Ben. Collapsed from exhaustion sometime around 2AM. MONDAY. After writing brief mash note to girlfriend, departed for airport. Had another memorable encounter with airport security after being detained by failed cop whom I angered by failing to realize that just because he wasn't looking at me or standing near me didn't mean he wasn't talking to me. Another uneventful flight was marked by sudden power loss to laptop in middle of Coen Brothers movie and presence of same boring, annoyed guy from trip in to Philadelphia. Got stuck on train on the way back with pair of Republican businessmen who kept asking me for directions and scolding me for political naivete. One businessmen, after learning I was a writer, insisted, any time a conversational subject would arise, on saying "Maybe you should write about that!" Came home and found out I may have to move into a new apartment in less than three weeks. FUCKIN' ENDUT. |
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| TODAY'S DRIFTWOOD: "Say 'I love you' to those you love. The eternal silence is long enough to be silent in, and that awaits us all." (George Eliot) |