I'm not good at opening mail.
I got my stuff from the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books coming up this weekend. This year it's at USC instead of UCLA. I think USC has better parking, and it's closer to Chinatown, which is a hangout area of choice for me.
When I'm finished on Saturday evening... Chinatown, baby.
Before we do stuff at the festival, we authors get to hang out in the "Green Room."
The Green Room is cool. They have all kinds of fancy food and stuff, but you have to stand in line and serve yourself.
I'm not good at that.
I think if people wanted to be really nice to me, there would be waitresses bringing me my food.
I'd rather have a bologna sandwich on Wonder bread brought to me than Chicken Kiev that I have to stand in a fucking line for.
In fact, if they were really nice, the waitresses would chew my bologna sandwich for me and spit it in my mouth.
Now THAT'S how you treat an author.
So yeah... that was me. The guy wearing dark glasses sitting by himself watching all you famous authors, editors, and publicity people (is there such a thing as a famous publicity person... and, if so, who handles them?) wait in line for your fancy un-pre-chewed food.
And I could show you some really cool spots in Chinatown.
