Coolness I Have Neglected
I’ve neglected a bit of coolness, what with whining about our recent stomach troubles and my lack of sleep. Let’s start with the neatest, absolutely most fabulous thing first, and go from there.
So last night I was at a signing out at the Beaverton Powells. And Charlaine Harris said my name in front of fans. I about had a cardiac arrest on the Sullen One, who was sitting next to me. After the signing we (the usual band of rascals) took Charlaine and her delightful media escort out to dinner at McMenamins. And I got to sit next to one of my favorite Southern writer-ladies. (Next to Nina, of course.) I was all starry-eyed. And aflutter. So much so that I probably made a huge fool of myself. But get this.
Charlaine Harris said she liked my books.
I brought her an ARC of The Devil’s Right Hand and she seemed pleased. *grin*
Oh, hell. I’m not just grinning. I’m dancing a jig with glee.
If you ever get a chance to hear Charlaine speak, run, don’t walk, and get yourself a seat. The lady is funny, witty, bright, and a positive joy to listen to. And she’s got excellent taste in fangirls, too. Plus, she cut her teeth writing mysteries, and loves writing. Considers it her job, and does it in a very no-fuss fashion.
I like this lady, Readers.
Other cool stuff: while sick out of my head I’ve finished a few books. Emer Martin’s More Bread Or I’ll Appear, which was not nearly as good as Breakfast in Babylon. I mean, it was okay, but after Babylon I expected another tour de force and just got…meh. Well-written meh, but meh nonetheless. Like Janet Fitch’s Paint It Black, which I could not swallow whole as I did White Oleander. The curse of second efforts seems to be well in effect here, though I must admit that the first books are so stunning any follow-up might well suffer in comparison. And it won’t stop me from reading Martin and Fitch in the future–quite the opposite. A good solid read is nothing to be sneezed at, and an author you can trust is rare.
Someone on my flist recently suggested a Vickers compendium–Department of Dead Ends, which was WONDERFUL and just got me past the most recent sleepless night. (Note to whoever suggested it–I think it was Bear–you saved me from a dismal fate. Consider your halo burnished.) And Orhan Pamuk’s The Black Book was a delicious experience. I expect nothing less from Pamuk, who appears to be an acquired taste one cannot shake after getting used to–rawther like sushi, I suspect. Or Guiseppe sandwiches at La Bottega. (If you’re ever in uptown Vancouver, go there and get one. You will not be sorry, I promise. Tell ‘em I sent you.)
I am left shaking my fist at the literary sky because Nabokov isn’t writing any more (being slightly unstuck in time) and Pamuk is not being translated/written fast enough. And I swallowed the latest Captain Alatriste whole, as we knew I would. And it was glorious.
But now I am left contemplating my towering TBR pile and sighing in vain. Time for research.
The other cool things? I went Friday last with Candy from Smart Bitches to see Andrew Bird. The opener was Apostle of Hustle, who were very very good, I especially enjoyed their hipster samba fusion thing going on.
Andrew’s portion was stunning–the sheer musicality of the man commands respect–but with just one small quibble. I know he’s a big fan of layering sounds, and that works GREAT on his most delicious albums. But in a small venue, the high-frequency of whistling and layering fluglehorns or WHATEVER that thing in the back was just makes the audience’s ears bleed. When half your audience of seasoned Portland hipsters are wincing, it’s time to take your sound man to task. And why, dear God, did you not play Measuring Cups, Andrew? I was not the only person shouting from the crowd for that tune. On the other hand, you played Candy’s favorites, so I can forgive you. You are also, Mr. Bird, desperately cute and just a little lost onstage. That only adds to your charm. Just for the love of Pete get the sound man to do his job instead of toking up in the back with the opening act, mmmmkay?
There. I may have left one or two bits of coolness out, but I will plead sleeplessness and general debility as well as lethargy. I think I severely strained myself last night, so excited was I by the Author Event. I mean, I got to sit next to Charlaine Harris. I just hope I didn’t embarrass myself. Though that’s always a possibility…
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