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September 29, 2008

Ball More

So I spent Saturday at the Baltimore Book Festival, which is, as described, a book festival in Baltimore. They invited me to come and read from my book, which was very flattering. Ordinarily this would be great except for the fact that it was an outdoor festival and it was pouring the entire time I was there. Rain and outdoor book browsing do not go well together. As a result, what should have been a mob scene of bibliophiles was a smattering of homeless people sheltering in festival tents. One bright spot - when I was fifteen I had my first girlfriend. For the sake of her anonymity, I will call her Kim (which was her name, but I won't say her last name to protect her identity, but it was Lorah). Anyway, Kim and I used to do what teenagers do: make out in her basement. To cover the banana noises coming from our mouths we used to turn on the television, and for some reason, the show that always seemed to be on during our macking sessions was a cooking show hosted by a congenial Asian man called "Yan Can Cook." If her parents ever wondered why we spent so much time watching an Asian cooking show they never asked. Anyway, as I'm entering the little townhouse where authors get their credentials, who do I run into but Martin Yan, he of "Yan Can Cook." Even better, he's wearing a chef's outfit! He's unmistakably himself. Of course I want to tell him that his show accompanied my first forays to second base, but I thought that would have been inappropriate so instead I just said, "Get the hell out of my way," which was probably even worse. I immediately wrote an email to Kim telling her about my run-in, hoping that she would remember: a.) Me and b.) "Yan Can Cook." To her credit, she remembered both, which I thought was terrific.

The reading itself was pretty good. They had me in the "Literary Salon," which was a fancy way of saying the "Muddy Tent." Or really, "One of the Muddy Tents" because there were several. I noticed that the inspirational speaker TD Jakes had his reading in a big museum auditorium, and I would be willing to be dollars to doughnuts that he wasn't nearly as funny as me, or if he was, I can pretty much guarantee he didn't use the phrase "and then I came on her tits" even once during his talk, as I did. To Baltimore's credit, they really showed up for me. Despite the rain and the mud and the fact that according to my favorite television show, "The Wire," Baltimore is a more dangerous place to Chernobyl, the city's population of hipsters and attractive teenage girls showed up to my reading. I was very pleased and I hope I did a good job for them. Unfortunately, there were a couple children in the audience, which made it awkward when I used the aforementioned phrase involving semen and boobs. I checked with the girl's mother before I said it about whether or not it would okay if I said something "filthy." The mother didn't seem to care, which at the time made me think, "What a cool mother," but in retrospect makes me think "What a terrible mother."


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Camille -- oh it was my friend. Lotsa!

For Serious

What the fuck is with all the haters??

If you don't like what Michael writes in HIS blog, then don't read it, much less whinge about it.

There are people commenting here who would have given Jesus shit for telling 'the same old "let's be nice to each other" parables.'

I'm sure you poison-spewers would be the first to cry like the pussies you are, if some bunch of strangers came over to your blogs, and started ripping you a new one for writing down your emo, bleeding heart, teenage angst fest. At least Michael has past lovers to reminisce about. You might want to give that a try yourself before bitching at him about it.

Give the guy a fucking break, he sits down and writes this stuff, for our reading pleasure, and what thanks does he get? A stream of vitriol, snark, and downright ungrateful bleating. And this from people who are *supposed* to be his fans.

If you're not a fan of Michael's then:
1. what the hell are you doing reading this blog?
2. get a fucking sense of humour.


fair enough that its his blog. still if we wrote something negative about him on some other blog, he'd just read it, post a direct link to it here and let you all tell him how wonderful he is and how crazy we are.

by eliminating the middle man, we're saving him valuable time and energy.

For Serious

Here's an idea - don't go around writing negative things about people. And not just Michael, just in general.

There's always that bitter little percentage of people who can't stand to see others succeed where they fail, and perpetually try to inflict their own sense of worthlessness on everyone else; instead of looking at their own life critically, and re-examining why it's always other people who have the success and attention they crave for themselves.


this is turning into the state newsgroup circa 1997


Ok, see, I think this is a silly argument. What did Michael write that was negative exactly? It's a joke. I'm sure the Mom thinks it's funny. Don't sweat it peeps.

Hey Michael, tell me my hair is too brown because you are musing on the perfect shade of brown based on your coffee that morning. Do it. Ok, so now would we then argue:

"Fuck you Michael, and leave my hair alone! How dare you say bad things about my hair"

"What's the problem? He can say bad things all he wants. It's his blog, so he can talk shit."

"No he can't" "Yes he can!" "No he can't" "Yes he can!" drone drone drone drone drone?

No no no. He's musing about coffee and the color of hair. It is comedy.

Appropriate response: "Good call Michael. My brown hair is way shit-colored. You sir are delightful!" Ditto on this.

I give up. The End. (please.)


Oh wait. I might have misunderstood the argument. Oh well, I give up anyway.

I'm telling on you guys

My goodness, we certainly have been bad girls and boys. Just LOOK at the naughty mess we made in this room!

The Headmaster is going to be very angry when he sees this.

I bet he will spank us! Spank, spank, spank - until our perky bottoms are pink and rosy!



Hi Michael. Sorry I missed your reading, even though I live three blocks away from the festival site and was fully aware that you were reading. But hey, it was raining, right? You saw it. Gross!


Great show Michael!

Your explanation about your robot's emergency fudge compartment was both insightful and hilarious. Plus, my mom totally asked you that question!

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