My boyfriend broke himself and BookFest is kind of dull. I am looking forward to Ms. Kimberly, in a scant hour, at the City Lit tent. Otherwise, my walk through was sort of blerg. (For more on blerg, see 30 Rock and my idol, Tina Fey.)
So, the boyfriend has pulled something and is still headin' into work. (Training, so he will, I hope, sit for the duration.) Also, he's a grumpy studier and this injury is not helping his I-Have-To-Take-Tests disposition. (Which is, to clarify, ill.)
Add to that my attempt at distraction, namely blocks of books, failing and I am not a happy LV. The Chesapeake has struck again. Last year there was a very nifty tent where books were being re-bound with hinges, Poes abounded, and the general festivity was infectious.
This year, my big excitement was being stopped by a psychic who wanted to read my palm. This was less exciting as I had no cash to pay her and so did not, in fact, get my palm read. Maybe she'll still be around when I go back and have exciting things to tell me. I certainly hope so.
Also, why do we not, UB MFA-ers, have a tent? I say we should. Next year. Memoir will have its book out by then, our classmates and graduates are busily publishing. We should be our own fun. Oooh. And maybe we could have some Plork gear on hand to peddle?
What say you?
I say, Go!
Cheers,
LV
1 comment:
I could read your palm for you. I have the unassailable qualification of having been an actual honest-to-God phone psychic for a total of about a week back in 2002.
Also, yes, we ought to have a tent. I think people would get a kick out of seeing the idea of The Book in action, the people who make books, who are learning about and from books, who are making words their business.
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