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* Every year, I end up having breakfast every morning with the exact same people at LATFOB: Alex Espinoza, Kyle Behen and my brother Lee. I can't recall precisely what we've talked about in years past, except that it usually involves salacious gossip, unbridled bitching and, invariably, a recap of whatever fucked up experience we had just prior to sitting down, or the night before, or some perceived indignity. This time, just to spice shit up a bit, I broke a chair by, uh, sitting on it. Unlike previous years, however, as soon as the chair broke nine different people Tweeted it. So that was nice.
* Wow, a lot of people hate the same people I hate. This was true at AWP a few weeks ago, but this time it was actually the same person vs. several people. It sort of reached a maximum density on Sunday when five different people asked me if I hated someone, I said of course, sure, doesn't everyone? And they said, yes, sure, of course, but they just wanted to confirm that I also hated said person. In this way, the green room at LATFOB is like the most intelligent, catty sleepover summer camp ever. As an interesting addendum, while having this conversation with someone in the bathroom, a person stepped out of a stall and said, "Man, I hate that fucker, too."
* Here's the thing: I don't care how old he is, or how old I am, Henry Winkler is still The Fonz to me and when I see him, I feel like I'm 9 and cannot muster the ability to walk up to him and say hello. I mean, when I was kid, I had a t-shirt with his face on it.
* I missed Buzz Aldrin in the green room but had the following conversation with Antoine Wilson, who didn't miss him:
Me: Man, he fucking sucked on Dancing With The Stars.
Antoine: Dude, he walked on the fucking Moon.
Me: Huh. Right. Shit.
Antoine: He didn't get the best dialog, but he walked on the fucking Moon.
* At the Book Prizes on Friday night, I ran into my ultimate bromance, Columbine author Dave Cullen, and managed not to break into sobs. Let me just say this one more time if it's not clear: If you haven't read Columbine yet, get thee to Amazon. It's the absolute best book I read all of last year and all of this year, too.
* Also at the Book Prizes, I had the joy of sitting with my colleagues Laila Lalami, Deanne Stillman and Mary Otis as Mark Haskell Smith brought the crunk to the awards ceremony. I then ate so many lamb chops at the party that I am now 97% wool.
* What's great about the panels at the book festival is that they make the people who ask questions walk down to a microphone to do so. This is important as it allows you to see the person in full before they open their mouth and certain things can be discerned, like, you know, if the person asking the question is fucking insane. The crazy woman on Saturday wanted to argue with Frank X. Gaspar about what bizarre religious event was most important, Fatima or...uh...something in Serbia? Something like that. She was very upset that Frank had written about Fatima and needed to argue for her bizarre spectral god-like fucked up situation until I finally asked her the most important question: "Is Jesus coming back? Because I need to get some shit in order if that's the case." She didn't seem to find that very funny.
* Cecil "Trouble" Castellucci does not really have a mangina. I just need to clear that up.
* A couple walked up to me after a panel on Sunday and looked very excited.
Man: We always come to the panels you're on!
Me: Oh, thanks, I appreciate it.
Man: We just loved The Walk! [a book my brother Lee wrote]
Me: Oh, uh, yeah, it's a good book.
Woman: Will you ever write another book like The Walk?
Me: Probably not.
Man: Is it even still in print?
Me: Yes. It's sold over 2 million copies. So I would think so.
Man: Really?
Me: Really.
Woman: It's so different from your other books.
Me: You think so?
Woman: It's nothing like Living Dead Girl.
Me: Well, I wrote The Walk when I was in recovery.
Man:
Woman:
Me: So, I was a different person with that book.
*It was really fun to sneak a few of my MFA students into the green room over the course of the weekend and then watch them get sort of googly eyed at the people milling around them. It's weird when your reading list is sitting at the same table as you, I'd imagine. Actually, I don't have to imagine, since the first time I was in the green room at LATFOB I pretty much spent the entire time silently gawking at Sherman Alexie while he ate some fruit just like a real human being might.
* It was also exceptionally fun to see my Bennington classmate (and brilliant journalist and professor) Celeste Fremon doing her thing (and on CSPAN no less) and, of course, so many of the current members of the esteemed MFA faculty members at UCR-Palm Desert, including Deanne Stillman, Mary Otis, Elizabeth Crane, Mark Haskell Smith, Rob Roberge and Bill Rabkin.
* Finally, the important thing to know is that the Festival of Books is expertly run. I can't imagine how much work it must be to plan and develop the event -- as I was walking out today and saw hundreds of people planning to move on the campus to break it down, which in and of itself must be a horror show, never mind that actual programming of the event -- but for the authors it's the smoothest of experiences. There are book festivals that are 1/10th the size of LATFOB that can't seem to figure out that maybe it might be nice to have fucking books for sale after you speak. The good and decent folks at the LA Times (who, of course, in full disclosure, I frequently review books for) deserve a lot of credit here for making this festival a priority still for the people of Southern California -- it's hard to argue with the 130K people who were on the UCLA campus this weekend that books are indeed an important part of our culture, no matter how they are digested -- and specifically the Festival of Books czar Maret Orliss who makes every guest author feel like they are a superstar. All of which is a long way of saying...is it April 2011 yet?
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