On the shuttle between the BART and my office I noticed that someone had written a note in Sharpie on two of the seats. The notes included the words RIP Dre.

What does it say about a society when a typical urban youth feels so disaffected and cut off from the regular paths of communication that he or she has to write a memorial to a death in a place that is usually covered by somebody's ass?

Speaking of disaffected youth, markedformetal terrorized hippies and other Berkeley types at a small independent book store, last night.

Spittle flying and teeth snapping, she harangued the crowd with violent fictions roiled up from the deepest depths of psychosis.

While taking questions from the quaking and fearful audience she set upon a young slavic woman, ripping the pink knit cap from the woman's head and placing it upon her own with blazing defiance.

The university sorts asked interminable questions such as, "If x = the gross national product of Paraquay, then create a cost benefit analysis of various industry facilities and compare and contrast income levels where a = sex worker and b = some guy named Lenny." and also, "Like, you know, where do you get your ideas, or whatever?" In response, markedformetal produced a large bucket of maple bacon from which she proceeded to bombard all and sundry, handful by handful.

Finding this assault insufficient, she pulled a sawed-off shotgun from under her table and forced everyone to purchase 10 copies of her lascivious tome before they could leave. The Bezerkeley-ites did not call the police because they felt that peer pressure and tongue tsk-ing would be more effective.

Markedformetal, before staggering off into the night, signed autographs by ripping the front cover off the customers' books and telling them to shove it up their corduroy covered asses.

We wish her luck in Kentucky, where such behavior is the accepted norm.
  • Current Mood: unmotivated
I've never been to a book signing. Now I totally want to go!

also, i like your new look.

also also, i'll write you soon about my thoughts on "some rain must fall". i wonder what a faber reading and book signing would be like. i'd show up dressed as a whore.
Don't forget the skin condition.

hah! even though i've lost so much meat from my self, i'll never be as bony as miss sugar.

my day started here at 60F; the temp has plonked down to 39, it's raining hard and the winds are bellowing. i came home, sopping, made tea while i changed into my pjs and now i want to pick that book right up and disappear. again. i don't think i'll ever tire of reading it.
i'm sorry, buy i simply must correct your incredibly misconstrued reconstruction of the evening's events: the owner of the pink knit cap is brazilian, not slavic! also, i am very adept at avoiding the malignant greasy touch of pig flesh, even maplefied, so not all were successfully bombarded...