Home from my many and sundry travels. Yesterday I was in Atlanta for the Book Festival of the MJCC. MJCC stands for Marcus Jewish Community Center. Who’s Marcus? I know.
My evening at the festival was fun. I was on a “panel” with two other comedic authors – Brian Frazer (Hyper-Chondriac) and Stephanie Klein (Moose). The event was moderated by Hollis Gillespie, an Atlanta based author whose written a bunch of books. The reason I put panel in quotes was because there wasn’t really a panel the way I think of panels: that is, there was no freewheeling Q&A/discussion about a chosen topic. Instead we each stood at a lectern for twelve minutes, made funny, then Hollis opened it up for questions.
A note about Hollis: when I asked her to autograph her book to me, she wrote, “I heard you have a huge dick.” I suspect this was in response to reading over my shoulder when I inscribed a book to a girl who asked me to write something filthy. I wrote, “I want to cum all over your tummy.” I don’t know that Hollis heard the girl ask me to write something like that and instead assumed that that’s just what I write on people’s books. I don’t. I usually write, “I want to spoog on your tummy.” Totally different.
Which reminds me of something else: when I went on her show, Chelsea Handler signed her book to me, “Suck me hard.” This was before we even met. The book was just waiting for me in the green room when I arrived. At first I was flattered because I thought, “She signed it that way because she thinks I’m cool and ‘gets it.’” When I asked her about it, she said “Yeah, I just sign all my books that way.” So I didn’t feel so special, but it made me question why she got so flustered when I began describing fingering my first girlfriend on her show. Classic case of being remaining in the proverbial kitchen despite being unable to stand the heat.
Incidentally, here’s the way I usually sign my books. I have a selection to choose from depending on the person:
• I (heart) you
• I love you
• I miss you
• You’re my BFF
• You’re my new best friend
And this new one which I just came up with and like a lot:
• I’m proud of you
See? Very upbeat. Very self-affirming. Not dirty in the least. Why these women feel the need to be dirty in their inscriptions I don’t know. And for the record, my dick is not huge. It is average-sized. I know this because I carry a tape measure with me wherever I go and ask to measure other dude’s penises as a way to “break the ice” and also as a wa to gather valuable data, which I then sell to spammers trying to get people to buy girth-enlarging herbal supplements.
Stephanie and Brian both talked about how people can learn stuff from reading their books and about their personal journeys of self-growth, which they then poured into their manuscripts. My book contains an essay entitled “How to Approach the Sensitive Question: Anal?” so I couldn’t really do that. Instead I talked about my time in Marquette, Michigan the day before and about Halloween ’08. They are both very good speakers and writers who made me feel like maybe I should be trying a little harder to convey something of value to my readers. But then I thought, “Nah.”
After the “panel,” we went out to eat with some of the local Jews to a restaurant called “Apres Diem,” which is French for “Daily Apricot.” Stephanie held court a little bit and told us all about her first failed marriage, which you can read about in her first book, “Straight Up and Dirty,” which if you look on Amazon can be found under the tag “funnel cake.” I do not know why.
(I had to take several calls from Hollywood during the course of the meal so I missed a lot of it. The Hollywood calls I cannot go into at this point, but they might make for some interesting blogging somewhere down the road. But one thing I enjoy doing is loudly announcing to whomever I’m with whenever I get a call from California, “I’m sorry. I have to take this. Hollywood is calling!” Then I make a big show of taking the call. Hilarious.)
Here’s what I ordered at the restaurant: black bean soup and the Fattoush Salad. If you have to ask why I ordered something called the “Fattoush,” then you have no business reading my blog. Was it delicious? It was. But I was exhausted from my many travels and had to get up early to go do “Good Day Atlanta,” the local Fox morning chat show. I’ve been trying to eat better lately because I’ve noticed that I’m developing the kind of stomach overhang that once-skinny men get when they reach a certain age. Apparently I am at that age. I look like I had successful gastric bypass surgery, but couldn’t afford a follow-up tummy tuck. So I’ve decided to try to either get liposuction or just try to firm up down there. Step one in firming up involves ordering dishes that, if so desired, could be pronounced “Fat Tush.” Was it desired? It was. Was it done? And how.
Got back to the hotel around midnight and tossed and turned most of the night – the result of a stressful week involving many Hollywood phone calls coupled with my total lack of desire to get up at six o’clock to go be on a morning show where I felt pretty confident they would not have any idea of who I was or what I was doing there. This is usually the case with chirpy morning news shows.
I couldn’t have been more wrong about “Good Day Atlanta.” I loved that show, mostly because it’s hosted by a total hottie named Suchita. At the time I thought she was kind of into me, but I just watched the interview and I realized that what I interpreted as “kind of into me,” was probably in reality closer to “not into me even a little bit.” And honestly, watching the interview, I wasn’t that into me, either.
So then I went to the airport and got home just in time to heat up a can black beans and write this in my soon-to-be Dutch oven.