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Monday, July 23, 2012

Woodstock, NY

Follow up to the previous post of...about...two and a half months ago, it appears that there may, in fact, have been an internet snafu that has lead to the aforementioned agent blackout. It could, of course, still be all of the nightmare-inducing stuff like hating the manuscript, laughing with colleagues, etc., but it seems much more likely that she just never got the darn thing. I've re-sent it, soooooo, keep your fingers crossed.

I finished The City and the City by China Mieville the other day and it blew me the hell away. It was like the best of Crichton mixed with The Da Vinci Code only without all the crappy parts, and then mixed even more with sociopolitical overtones. I was describing it to a work bro the other day thinking he totally wouldn't understand it, but he nodded and he said, "You know, that book sounds awesome. It reminds me of when I would go to certain neighborhoods in the Bronx and all the Mexicans and the Jews and Italians had their own stores and churches and houses and everyone was there in the same place and yet none of them had anything to do with any of them. Like they were in the same place, but not." So there you have it, heady sci-fi that even the work bros can get behind. Read the thing if you get the chance.

Did you remember to get your mom a birthday card?

I went to Woodstock, NY a couple of weeks ago and the place was the most incredible place ever. It was as though all those hippies who turned on and dropped out formed a commune and then rather than falling apart and collapsing under the weight of its own dysfunction and drug abuse the commune had actually succeeded and thrived and then it was forty years later and all the hippies had kids who were succeeding and thriving too. It was beautiful. I went to a wedding in a backyard by a pond and the reception was under a tent just like in the 7th Harry Potter book and after several brews I kept waiting for Deatheaters to appear and break the whole thing up. They didn't, and the party just kept going on and on until it was just too much loveliness for me to keep inside. I sang a song by the firelight to all my new friends because my wife and my friends made me do it. I hadn't sang the song in about five years. I was terrified. Singing is a part of me that has calcified and I was the tin man and it took a lot of Dorothy's grease to get my joints working. People listened to me though and they clapped afterwards and that made me want to cry.

Have you picked up your dry cleaning?

I haven't. It's waiting there. It's alone. But after long enough, it'll make friends. And in the end it'll probably be happier there than on my back, working, unappreciated, wrinkling and furrowing and sucking up the things my body lets go of.

I hope everyone in the world reads my book. I hope it makes them happy and I hope that makes them love me. Just little bit.

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