Monday, Monday

Photo taken by Eric Slick yesterday -- I still can't believe that's our backyard. I've never seen that happen before -- so much snow, the trees looking like that. It's so cool I can't stop staring out the back doors. Doesn't my snow covered smoker grill look like a snowman? I should go out there and stick on a pickle nose and maybe two tennis balls for eyes (since I took a quick look around and in the frig and am sad to report that's about it in this house right now for what I can use that no one will yell at me for putting outside in the cold and wet).

Or maybe I should just forget that plan and take the dog out for a long, long walk down by the Art Museum where I am bound to get into less trouble and have a better time.

So Julie made it back okay from Montreal. She said it was only a seven hour drive, and that was in the snow, so I can't believe I've never even attempted a Canadian visit myself before. Julie also remarked it was really, really cool -- kind of like driving to Europe -- parts reminded her of Newcastle and Manchester in the UK...and she finally got to use her eight years of French in Quebec. She brought her Dad back two really cool CDs you can't find here - Hendrix out-takes, and as for me, well, I got two dozen bagels.

Yeah, I know.

Actually, I love bagels, and who would have thought Montreal is famous for them? They are way less yeasty and therefore way less fattening than our version...when I toasted a sesame version this morning it was almost like eating a cracker. Very, very good.

But now I'm starving and could probably eat another four, but I keep thinking of the blood pressure doctor and those extra meds and I guess if I'm smart I'll do 100 jumping jacks instead and walk the dog as mentioned above.

So two very exciting announcements coming up for two friends of mine in the writing world...one who just signed a "significant" deal with Viking Press for a short story collection...yeah -- you read that right -- significant deal for short stories -- yeah!!!!...and the other who will have a story of hers appear in one of the most prestigious literary magazines in the world. But because I'm superstitious and should let my friends make their own announcements first, anyway, I'm just throwing in these teasers and don't bother writing to me, I will not spill any more details. But watch this space!

I've been on an insane submissions tear the last couple of weeks and will probably be slashing my wrists shortly. Ha ha. Just kidding. About the wrists, that is. But yeah, I've been writing and subbing like a madwoman...but mostly short stuff and one essay.

In the meantime, it's back to work on my novel. There's no new music news for either kid at the moment though things are in the works, but as for now, Julie is at Drexel through the evening with classes and a recording project; Eric teaches drums today/tonight, and tomorrow both kids are involved with Valentines Day so that means two straight days of solitude and writing for me.

Could be worse...

Later,
xo

Snow!

Wow. We have over a foot of snow in downtown Philadelphia already and we're still in white out conditions.

Monty adores this weather so I let him out and took a few shots of him and a photo of what's going on in my back yard right now.

I'm in full mother panic mode because yep, Julie is leaving Montreal in a few hours and she's got to head back home through upstate New York to get here and they are getting the worst of this storm later this morning.

Eric is bummed because Carolyn slept over last night and the two of them are supposed to be starring in a music video being filmed at noon but unless the shoot is all paid for and all of the "players" are in downtown Philly, they aren't going anywhere. I can't even see my front steps from the time a half hour ago I took those pics of Monty until now.

Right now they are sitting here in the living room with me and I'm like "Don't you want to go out and play in this? Can I give you guys some money to have breakfast out?"

"No".

Oh well. I guess I should be good mom and offer to make pancakes or something, huh.


I'll be back...
xo

Sigh...

More art from Bill Saunders. Thank God I have something to make me happy today.

Yeah, this wasn't one of my better days. Julie and Matt left for their holiday in Montreal at 2:00 a.m. and I love Julie so much, but she felt the need to wake me before leaving and I couldn't fall back asleep. I was worried about the two of them driving to Canada in the middle of the night; I was worried about the approaching snow storm; I'm worried as I sit here now because I just heard we may have twelve inches by Sunday night and then it's moving north and that's when and from where they're driving home.

Conversely, I am also very happy about the snow. Playing with the dog outside when we have a substantial amount is one of the simple pleasures of my life. And now that I no longer have to walk to work in it, I'm back to being a kid again and I get all excited when I hear we may be having a blizzard.

But today really did suck..

I started out by seeing my doctor who told me my blood pressure had soared again and wants me to double my meds, which means I'm going to be a complete zombie. So I went online and have been studying hypertension all day, and in between being positive I'm going to die, I've been realizing what an idiot I am because I hate to exercise and I hate to diet and if I would just walk a couple miles a day, join a gym, and give up white sugar and coffee and fried food, I might not need meds at all. Because I'm extremely worried that if I do need to double them, I'm going to end up seriously fucked because they really affect my creativity and writing in general.

So that's the plan. And I am doing yoga. I just need those people to stop chanting. I can't handle the chanting. I need to sneak in my iPod. But then I won't hear what the instructor is telling us to do, and she'll make an example of me when I fuck up, just like in every exercise type class I've ever been in, starting with first grade at Julia Ward Howe elementary school.

"What do you mean you can't do a push-up, Robin?"

"I can't!"

"Everyone can do a push-up! You're not trying!"

Okay, if you say so. I still can't do a push-up. Or it's evil twin, the chin-up.

"Where's your gymsuit, Robin? What? You don't like wearing one piece periwinkle blue bloomers which snap all the way up to your neck and have your name embroidered in big white letters across your tits? What, you think you can wear your black hippie clothes in here?"

And then they made us square dance. Good lord. I was a senior in high school in the freaking seventies and they still made us square dance with each other. And in those bright blue bloomers. The guys had gym in a separate room but for square dancing, they were allowed to join us. They had to wear thin white shorts and white t-shirts.

Err...you can just imagine. They had it worse than we did, for sure. Because we noticed everything.

But our bloomers were ridiculous. If you had to pee, you had to unsnap the entire thing and get naked in a girls' communal bathroom (you know I never wore a bra and yeah, yeah, we all noticed who had big boobs and who had tiny bumps and who used crumpled tissues har har). Oh, the agony. The things kids do not have to endure today...they haven't a clue. Though I was really distressed when they recently reinstituted dress codes in Philadelphia public schools. It was my generation who abolished them...I remember having to wear a dress in elementary school and then all of a sudden we were allowed to wear jeans and I felt so free! Now, like everything else in this fucking country, we've taken a giant step backwards into the fifties. Bleh. Have I mentioned how much I hate Republicans and the whole conservative/right wing movement lately? Oh well, 'nuff said about that...there's a million blogs out there who do it better.

Oh and the reason I can't join a gym is because of spandex, exhibitionists, and disco music. I don't think I have to elaborate any further on that one. But I did once give it a try and yep, you guessed it, was immediately made an example of in the step class. Apparently I can't even walk up and down a step properly.

Anyway, Eric was kind of mentioned in today's Daily News because they interviewed Adrian Belew about his involvement with Rock School. Here's the article where they refer to him without saying his name...I'll underline the applicable part:

Belew to mentor, teach & solo at School of Rock
By JONATHAN TAKIFF
takiffj@phillynews.com

Adrian Belew has let his "twang bark" guitar howl in some pretty incredible company through the years, recording and touring with Frank Zappa, David Bowie, the Talking Heads and its offshoot, Tom Tom Club, on some of their most memorable projects.

Belew also pops up several times on the Greatest Progressive Artists list as a core member of the No. 1-rated King Crimson, for his sunny, pop/rock projects with the Bears and as the front man of his own trio and solo discs. (A track from his "Side One" CD was nominated for but lost out at the Grammys Wednesday night in the best rock instrumental category.)

This weekend, Belew is really working through that grand old man of rock thing. He's been cast as mentor, visiting professor and guest soloist for the School of Rock, the Philly-rooted and now nationally expanded music school.

Tomorrow afternoon, Belew conducts a seminar for students at the Downingtown SOR branch. That night, he'll perform with several bunches of the young (age 11 through mid-teen) players for two shows at World Cafe Live. It's actually the third stop of the crew's four-city East Coast mini-tour, concluding Sunday at New York's Knitting Factory.

School of Rock founder Paul Green - a steadfast advocate for complex, progressive rock - had been in hot pursuit of Belew for some time.

"They sent me their documentary to watch [which included guest appearances by other Zappa band alumni], then I went to the Web site and thought, 'This is a really cool thing,' " Belew shared in a chat on Wednesday.

"We rehearsed for the first time last night, and it went very well. Paul and I picked out the material, mostly from my catalog but also including Beatles and Hendrix songs. The idea is to challenge these kids a bit. It's difficult stuff for them to play, and they did really well."

While they're billed as the School of Rock All-Stars, Belew is performing strictly with current students and will gently steer the jams "so the best players get a solo or two."

But for the first rehearsal, Green also brought in some SOR graduates "so we could play just for fun and I could see what happens with these kids when they move on," Belew explained. "A couple are now teaching, others have moved on to college. You can definitely see the progression, how much better they've gotten. It's pretty inspiring."

Enough to make him think about joining the School of Rock faculty in his hometown of Nashville, Tenn.? "I don't have time for a regular teaching gig, but I'm definitely thinking about how I can help out there."

Playing the go anywhere, do anything, gun-for-hire role is something this dexterous talent "really enjoys," he said. (And when not playing, he sidelines as a abstract painter.) "But frankly, it's also what it takes to survive in the music business these days, if you're not in a first-tier band that tours and records all the time."

Belew has also been enticed in recent years to produce albums with the Mexican progressive rock leaning Jaguares, "who're sort of a Spanish-speaking U2, very strong, spiritual," and tracks with the Christian rock band Jars of Clay. And in his kick-butt power trio, he's collaborated with longtime devotees Les Claypool of Primus and Danny Carey of Tool.

"Now those are musicians that the School of Rock kids can identify with," he modestly declared.

********

So that's cool, at least. Continuing on with the day from hell, the next thing that happened is that Eric's brand new Mac laptop died today and it said "fatal error" which means the hard drive fried. That was his Christmas present and it's not even two months old! He's really freaked out, because even though we have Apple Care and it's under warranty, he's afraid he's lost all of this music he's written in the past month.

Let's just hope that the nice techie men in the Apple Store can help us tomorrow and fix things assuming they aren't closed due to our approaching snow storm.

Anyway, that's it for me. I think I'll curl up with the dog and watch a DVD. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

Later,
xo

The Art of Bill Saunders, News from the Grammys, Deep Blue by David Niall Wilson

So as I mentioned yesterday, my son, Eric, also is drummer for a wonderful Captain Beefheart tribute band founded by Bill Saunders, a/k/a Doctor Dark. When we visited Bill at his home last fall and I saw his artwork, I fell in love and have been meaning to showcase some of his paintings here for some time. Now is as good a time as any, huh. I have lots more pictures and I hear there are some great stories behind each painting -- I just need to get them from Bill! Or, if you are interested in hearing them first hand from the artist, there is contact information on his website. Cool? Cool.

Amazing, though, how many musicians and writers are also talented artists. Just off the top of my head: John Lennon, Eric Clapton, Ron Wood, and John Entwistle. I made John a link because you should really go visit his site -- there's a wonderful memorial to him where there are several stories from "regular" people who've met him; there's artwork and CDs for sale, etc. I went to John's opening at an art gallery in Philadelphia about a year before his death...he was sitting in a loft like second floor peering down at us...apparently his hearing was so bad at that point that the sounds coming from crowds of people upset him terribly and the only way we could have a one on one meeting with him would be to buy a painting and have him personalize it. Weird. Who would want a personalized painting? It's one thing to have an autographed book from Neil Gaiman (ha ha), but to have "To Robin, Love, John" on a painting? Bleh! Anyway, when he realized everyone else pretty much felt the same, especially as his paintings started in the thousands, he eventually came down and joined the crowd with earplugs.

And if you're not hip to his solo album with Joe Walsh, oh my God, you are missing a classic from your collection. It's called Too Late The Hero and I've provided you with my absolute favorite place to buy hard to find CDs on line, Djangos. Too Late The Hero is a song which will give you chills, but I'm partial to another song on the CD called "Talk Dirty". (Big surprise) and "Try Me", which has lyrics I naturally adore and if you know me personally, you'll see why when I give you a little taste now:

I can tell by the smile you're trapped in
You've been smoking your breakfast again
Real life specimen, Space Captain
Know where to stop but you don't know when.

Try me, I could be all that you need to get high
Try me, I don't promise to teach you to fly
Try me, I could be all that you need to get high
Try me, I don't promise to teach you to fly.

Yeah, so all I need is to meet a "Me". Ha ha -- just kidding. No, really, I am. But I can never resist a cheap joke.

Speaking of music, one of my pals attended the Grammys last night because he played keyboards on a nominated song. He may not want me to identify him because of the nature of his "playful" e-mail, so I'll keep him anonymous....but here's what he had to say:

Wednesday, February 08, 2006
GRAMMY UPDATE!

Well, ----- didn't win and neither did Nickel Creek. However, I really had an AMAZING time at the Grammys tonight. It was really excellent! There were so many great performances and not very many lame ones.

The performances I enjoyed the most were by U2 with Mary J. Blige doing "One," Bruce Springsteen playing "Devils & Dust" by himself, Kelly Clarkson was stunning, Paul McCartney played "Helter Skelter" which made me freak out because I LOVE that song so much, and then Linkin Park took the stage with Jay-Z and eventually Paul McCartney and they did "Yesterday" which was also really amazing. I also enjoyed seeing Madonna.

So I had a really great time. And no, _____ didn't win, and neither did Nickel Creek, and sadly, Kanye West did manage to win a couple, but I had an excellent time and I hope that I will have the honor of attending again in the near future. And I can still say that I played on a song that was NOMINATED for a Grammy and that's still pretty freaking cool.

The end.

Music is the best.

P.S. The lamest thing Kanye did, which wasn't on the telecast, was that after he lost for "Record of the Year," he walked around the stage trying to get people to cheer for him.

So that's from my Grammy nominated pal, straight from the event last night. Pretty wild, huh?

I'm gonna forgive him for loving Kelly Clarkson and Madonna, etc. because he's only 27 years old and he's an amazing, amazing musician...but otherwise, I'd be giving him major shit about that. And ugh, have I mentioned how much I loathe Bruce Springsteen? Oh well. Nobody's perfect, not even my aforesaid talented pal.

I also really, really despise U2 and can't believe they won 5 Grammys...wait a second, this is a country who voted for George Bush, Sr. and Jr. so I guess I can believe anything.

In other news, readers of this blog will recall my bizarre "encounter" with author David Niall Wilson a couple of days ago and David is now my e-mail buddy. I am in the middle of reading his wonderful, wonderful book, Deep Blue.

Here's a synopsis:

Brandt is a down-and-out guitarist and vocalist who believes his life has hit rock bottom. He can barely make the rent on his apartment, he drinks so much he can barely make it to the crappy gig that keeps his band afloat, let alone play when he gets there. When he leaves the bar one dark night with a bottle of Jose Cuervo in one hand and his guitar case in the other, he finds he's locked out of his apartment with nowhere to go. As he stands alone in the dark and feeling sorry for himself, he hears a lone harmonica being played in the distance. The sound is deep and powerful, and something in the music draws him away from his doorway and into an old alley where the homeless gather around garbage-can fires. What he finds there is the harmonica player -- an old black man who can play the blues like Brandt dreams of doing himself. When he begs the old man to teach him, Brandt finds that he has been both gifted and cursed.

Here's what Publishers Weekly had to say about Deep Blue:

In this engrossing, poetic novel of spiritual evil and the possibility of salvation from Wilson (This Is My Blood), a burned-out musician, Brandt, is playing in an obscure band when he hears a homeless black man, Wally, play the purest blues on the harmonica he has ever heard, music that encapsulates all the pain of the world. Brandt begs Wally to teach him how to play the same way. He disregards Wally's warning that he would have to take the pain into himself, and then play to purge it lest it consume him. Brandt's performance that evening changes the lives of his fellow band members. Together they discover that they can play not to wake the dead but to settle restlessly roaming spirits. Opposing them is a sinister figure masquerading as a man of God, who wishes the pain to go on and on. As Brandt and the other band members slowly and convincingly come to realize that a larger world surrounds them, Wilson demonstrates that a horror novel doesn't need gallons of blood to succeed, that spiritual terror can be even more effective.

Of course once I finish up reading I'll have more to add as well, but if you do nothing else today, buy this book, pick up the Entwistle CD, and get in touch with Bill Saunders a/k/a Doctor Dark about his amazing artwork.

Trust me - you'll end up having an awesome time.

Odds and Sods for February 8, 2006

Okay, obviously I had a camera problem last evening. Yeah, that's right. It was the camera. That's Eric with his band, Flamingo, at the Knitting Factory.

The second photo shows my drummer son playing guitar on a Flaming Lips cover. Who knew? (I did. He also plays sax, marimbas, piano, bass...sigh.)

So that's Flamingo, minus lead guitarist Haffie who had to be at a Jesuit retreat as part of a class project so he couldn't be there. Somehow that strikes me as hilarious.

Eric had quite a day - he jammed with Adrian Belew (so did Julie), they had a blast, and then it was off to the Knitting Factory.

Fun show. The crowd was sparse, and about age 12 (okay, it was an over 21 show but...ack, never mind), and the few people who were there really seemed to enjoy the music.

I was really touched that Bill Saunders, a/k/a Doctor Dark surprised us and showed up with the lovely Nancy and also bestowed...get this...a comic book on me that he wrote and illustrated. You have no idea how cool it is. I need to take some photos and post them, along with Bill's art. I promised that months ago and will fulfill it! If you click on Bill's website, you will see he has a familiar drummer!

And now, speaking of comic books, in the "This Just Isn't Right" Department...what seems to be my daily tribute to Neil Gaiman as I fan myself and apply cold compresses to my forehead:



And to my writer pal in Long Island...yeah, you know who you are...save yourself the trouble of e-mailing this to me...and my crystal ball tells me it's your new screen saver until hubby sees it.

Ha!

I want a writing cabin (Susan...I mean, anonymous writer pal)...don't you? Christ, and at first all I aspired to own was a vintage fountain pen. Then it was a Moleskine journal. And now I won't rest until I have a writing cabin.

Someday...

But in the meantime, sorry for the abreviated post. I have much more to say, as well as posting some of Bill's aforesaid art. But it's like a lunatic asylum in here right now and I must go make nice with my family.

Later,
xo

Today's excitement

Sorry - I know I've posted this photo of Julie and Eric in Hollywood before but I will never get tired of it and can't even believe it was taken only around six-seven months ago.

So both Julie and Eric are performing for Adrian Belew tonight in a private showcase at the downtown Philadelphia branch of Rock School. I wish I could be there, but as previously stated, it's probably better I'm not going because I'd probably do the proud mother crying thing and act like an idiot in general.

In case you are too lazy to click on the Belew link and don't know who he is, he was the guitarist for everyone from King Crimson to Frank Zappa to David Bowie and now he's gone solo with a band of his own.

After that, we literally have to jet to the Knitting Factory in New York because Eric's got a gig at 10:00 p.m. with his band, Flamingo.

I'm kind of worried (wait -- when aren't I worried) that the Knitting Factory isn't exactly going to be packed on a Tuesday night at 10:00 p.m. for a relatively unknown band from Philadelphia so if you live in New York and are reading this and you're able to make it, I'll be your friend forever and buy you a beer.

Though even Eric is anxious about this show because they are missing one of their lead guitar players -- he's got to go on a Jesuit retreat as part of his senior project for St. Joe's prep.

Ah, it's not easy being a rock star but one thing Eric has is plenty of experience with adversity after touring with Rock School for years. Ha ha - who will ever forget the west coast tour of 2004. We had everything from floods in Denver (yeah, Denver) to transvestites at a condemned hotel in Las Vegas.

Man it was the best time of my life only I didn't appreciate it while it was happening.

Quick John Lennon quote: "Life is what happens while you are busy making plans".

And: "He who stands with one foot in the past and one foot in the future is pissing on the present".

Actually, regarding the west coast of 2004 tour, check that. The Seattle and LA Rock School movie tour this past summer was the best time of my life, followed by the Les Paul gig at the Roseland Ballroom in October.

Wait, no, Zappanale in Bad Doberan, East Germany, 2003 -- that was it.

Or...hmmm...England with Julie and Matt while she toured with McRad in October, 2005.

Okay, Rob, time to stop living vicariously through the kiddies. What was your best time?

Signing books at the Phaze Authors In the Pink Event at the Pink Banana in Virginia with a giant penis balloon bobbing over your head? Ha! That was way wild, as was the tour of the S&M dungeon in a residential Virginia neighborhood.

Hey, speaking of Phaze, here is how we did as a group in the 2005 Preditors and Editors Poll:

2005 Readers Poll Results

Print/Electronic Novels:

Romance
21: Dare Me, Leigh Ellwood (Phaze)
23: Apocalypse Dance, M. Barnette (Phaze)

All other
11: Three Days in New York City, Robin Slick (Phaze)

Short Stories:

Romance
16: Erotique, Alessia Brio (Phaze)
16: Jack of Hearts, Leigh Ellwood (Phaze)
17: Sweet Seductress, Mae Powers (Phaze)

All other
14: Heat Wave, Eden Bradley (Phaze)
15: Night of Inspiration, Jenna Allen (Phaze)
16: Walls, Bridget Midway (Phaze)

Authors
16: Eden Bradley
19: Emily Veinglory
20: Bridget Midway
21: Robin Slick
21: Leigh Ellwood

Pretty cool, huh. We rock! And hey, I always wanted to be 21 again.

Not really. Well, I'd like my 21 year old face and body back -- but that's it. I don't know what the hell my brain was thinking back then but trust me, it wasn't good.

Okay, gotta fly for now. Eric and I are watching 200 Motels on the Sundance Channel. I'm in a state of shock over seeing former Zappa band members Don Preston and Jimmy Carl Black as their young, hippie selves. (In Germany at Zappanale, Jimmy Carl Black and I got very, very drunk together and he's another one who told me Eric is like the best fucking drummer he's ever heard. And Jimmy's a drummer! And Eric was only 16 at the time!)

Right. Back to the movie. And oh look, there's Ringo!

Later,
xo

Just plain weird...

Spiderman must have morphed with Dubya, huh

And um, speaking of spiders...

You know, I don't believe in supernatural stuff and I'm no new age weirdo, but certain odd things have been happening to me lately which are really freaking me out. So I figured I'd share them.

First of all, I learned that the poem which Neil Gaiman read at Temple University, The Day the Saucers Came, is up at Spider Words. While I'm there reading early this morning, I see Spider Words is also featuring another poet, David Niall Wilson. I click on Wilson's work and really like his stuff. I make a mental note to myself: Check this guy out further later today.

Not even an hour later, I had an important errand to run, but obviously I have some strange form of cyber OCD because before I could walk out the door, I had to quickly click on my various online haunts first, and one of them is Susan Henderson's blog at Publishers Marketplace.

Imagine my shock to see that her featured writer of the day was David Niall Wilson. Before I could properly digest that information, I had to go out on said errand, came home around two hours later, and the AOL "You've got mail" thing was flashing.

I open the e-mail and literally gasped out loud. Can you guess why?

The e-mail was from David Niall Wilson!

I was reading your page at PM and thought I'd drop you a line. I wonder if you remember a group from the very early 70s and late sixties named Mind Garage? I'm currently working on a sort of pseudo-biographical book about the band and their years together. They performed what they called The Electric Liturgy and were on stage with Iron Butterfly and a few other big names -- came out on RCA. I'm looking for anyone with memories of them actually playing...and I'll be honest, even the band members don't have great memories about those days...I love the premise of your book, by the way....

David Niall Wilson
www.macabreink.com
"The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else he can blame it on."
- Robert Bloch

I mean, really. Who else could this happen to?

Do I have a higher power with a warped sense of humor or what? I know one thing, though. I really love that Robert Bloch quote.

But though I pride myself on my knowledge of music of that era, Mind Garage did not ring any bells. So I quickly went to their website and learned they had an encounter with my hero, John Lennon. Anyway, after having a thoroughly enjoyable time poking around, I wrote back to David with the news that I couldn't help him, but then of course because we're both music-obsessed writers and everyone knows writers love to e-mail, we started corresponding back and forth.

In the middle of all of this, I get a telephone call from Susan Henderson, who has never called me in the four years since I first met her -- I didn't even know she had my phone number.

We talked about David Niall Wilson among other things...but the best part of the conversation was that she calmed me down about my new book and gave me the tools I needed to focus (i.e., forget the word "agent" and just write..d'oh)

In the middle of all this -- David Niall Wilson sends me a PDF of his book, Deep Blue, because I told him all about my music connections and this book is about music and I told him I'd read it and promote it here.

I skimmed it briefly and got the chills. I can already tell it's going to be a fantastic read - I'll do a formal review in a day or two.

In the middle of all this -- I bought Susan Henderson's short story, Motorhead, off of Amazon shorts -- and oh my god, it's unbelievable. I have the Amazon link on the right hand side here as well -- buy it -- read it -- it'll be the best forty-nine cents you'll ever spend.

In the middle of all this, I get another email from David Niall Wilson, who tells me he has a new, unannounced "art" book, LOST AND FOUND, coming out later this year featuring work by Neil Gaiman and Lisa Snellings-Clark.

I never heard of Lisa Snellings-Clark until Saturday, when I learned I would be at something called Balticon.

And as readers of this blog know ad nauseam, I never heard of Neil Gaiman until I accidentally read his book four months ago and I've since met him and had some fun adventures as a result.

It turns out that Lisa and Neil are good friends -- he's even got her moving sculpture installed in his home.

Okay. So what does all this mean?

Damned if I know.

But if you ask me, I should be writing up a storm now, huh. I think these messages are just muses in disguise.

Though in the middle of all of this, I just got not one but two rejections for short stories I sent out. Oddly enough, both editors said "I really like this, but it's not right for us."

Oy.

Having heard that line repeatedly from agents and publishers over the past several years, I'm thinking of having it tattooed on my chest. The only line I've heard more times is "We love this but it's just not marketable in today's climate"...whatever the fuck that means.

Let's see. I write about sex, drugs, rock and roll...dysfunctional relationships...hmmm...I guess the majority of the population would rather read about...what???

Ah, I wish I could give up, but I can't. I'm obsessed, possessed, whatever, with writing and other than my kids, little else matters. Okay, music. And the dog. And good sushi. But other than that, my needs are basic.

Actually, and this is true, now that it's been confirmed I'm an official uberdork, I do believe I'm going to try my hand at science fiction.

Why the hell not.

Later...
xo

Hullo...

The Happy Ending Lounge

Ha ha - forgive the Hullo. I'm whipped this morning -- I didn't get back from New York last night until maybe 2:00 a.m. and I kept falling asleep on the train, which of course naturally made me paranoid I was going to sleep through the stop in Philadelphia and wake up in Washington, D.C. so after struggling to stay awake on the ride home, I was in fact awake all night when I got here.

And I'm actually insane enough to be considering hopping back on a train for New York in a few hours to say Hi to Lou Reed (again) and attending the Opium gala tonight.

Last night's Opium Magazine reading was so much fun! As I said in my prior post, it was held at The Happy Ending, which is a former whorehouse...I mean, massage parlor...I mean...Asian Heath Food Store (cos' as you can see, that's what it says on their very pink awning...) and when you walk in, because of that awning, you feel like you're entering a secret society because there is no sign which says "Happy Ending".

Meanwhile, I just realized how funny that is. A whorehouse named "Happy Ending".

I should hope so!

Wait...before I go on with this story any further, I know I said I was through talking about Neil Gaiman, or gaimanizing, but my life is too fucking weird. I just got an email from my publisher (Mundania/Phaze) about participating in this year's Balticon. What the hell is Balticon, I wondered? Is it in Baltimore? I can do a book signing in Baltimore, that's like an hour and a half from Philly by train, and I could certainly do a four day event there; I even know a few people who live in the area and I'd love to hang out with them.

I clicked on the link and almost had a heart attack.

Enough said.

So yeah, looks like my publisher and therefore I will have a table there. Holy shit.

Getting back to last night...

The evening began with a poem by Tao Lin. He's unbelievable. It was crazy. Todd Zuniga, editor of Opium, who is a brilliant writer in his own right, was going to co-read with him but the audience was given a choice of three or four languages for his lines: French, Rumanian, or Swedish. (I think there was in fact a fourth choice but damn if I can remember what it was...it certainly wasn't something easy like Spanish). We of course being hipsters all shouted for Rumanian, which unfortunately meant Todd, who is not fluent in Rumanian but fluent in Swedish, did not read along with him but some gorgeous Rumanian writer guy with a shaved head read in his place and hmmm...note to self: Find out who he is!

Then we heard from a writer named Mike Sacks, who read this piece. Frat humor for sure but I loved it.

The next reader, Tom Lombardi, was hilarious. Oh my god, he read a piece about a hapless guy fucking all twelve members of his yoga class. At the same time. And each woman of course was another hilarious character - yuppie, artist, CPA...ha! Laugh out loud funny. And he wasn't even the headliner.

Up next was the totally insane and outrageously sexy Jim Ruland who read what was more like a performance...we were all so busy watching Jim deliver the goods...plus, he had a "plant" in the audience...and no one can convince me she wasn't a plant but it was all in great fun...who allegedly did not know him but read a few lines with him and somehow was able to execute them perfectly without one error even though it was very dark in there (and Robin thought to herself Thank god I've learned the print out in 16 font and memorize your story first rule).

Finally, we had Sam Lipsyte, and that link will also take you to Amazon to buy his book, which is totally hysterical. The premise of it is this: His character keeps writing to his high school alumni newsletter with updates that are never published but our hero just keeps on writing them anyway, and they are so fucking brilliant...he covers all kinds of crazy ground in each "update" he sends them. Buy the book! Ack, I was talking with him briefly before the reading. (See? I can talk to other writers without fainting, drooling, or clutching anyone's arm) He's got a twenty month old baby, he writes this magnficent book, and nevertheless has a full time job, affording him very little time to write at all. That sucks.

I was my usual great self. Brought the house down.

Ha ha.

All kidding aside, I drank club soda last night - no alcohol, because I've also learned the "no alcohol prior to taking Amtrak" rule, having spent one too many times with my face in their disgusting train toilet. I also met Will Layman! I love Will Layman! And, I hung out some Zoers I've never had the pleasure of meeting prior to last night - writers Anne Elliott and Carol Novack -- as well as Zoers I have met like Ellen Meister, Don Capone, and sort of Zoetroper but former Philadelphian and now I'm-so-jealous-of him-New Yorker Dennis DiClaudio, who wrote a book with the absolutely hilarious title of
Hypochondriac's Pocket Guide to Horrible Diseases You Probably Already Have.

Actually, talking to Dennis, who is probably young enough to be my son, damn it, was one of the highlights of my night. (Other than hanging with Ellen, who is just so cool and if only I had a pal in Philadelphia like her, but then again, we'd probably get sick of each other and resent spending time away from our writing so maybe it's better she lives in New York and I just come for visits). Getting back to Dennis, he's so terrific! Funny, warm...I dunno, sometimes for whatever reason you just really, really like a person and click with them and that's the way I felt talking to him. Can't wait to read the book!

So that's it for the writing part of my life right now -- I'm still trying to decide whether to return to New York later today.

In music news, I know you are all dying to know how Eric made out at the audition I mentioned the other night. Well, I'm not allowed to say much, just that the person for whom he auditioned said he was a "slam dunk".

I really should not throw in these teasers but can't resist...all I can say is, next week I should have a lot more to say.

But let's put it like this: My very talented and lucky son will be in L.A. sooner than later, and in the meantime, he's getting ready for rehearsals to go out on tour with Project Object this spring. I'm still waiting for Project Object to update their website and when they do, I'll post the link.

Okay...what to do, what to do. I guess I'll drink some coffee, which will at least eliminate the going back to sleep aspect of my decision making.

Later...
xo

Odds and Sods for Thursday, February 2, 2006

Yeah, so tomorrow night I'll be in New York at the above reading and I'm so psyched! I was actually planning on attending the Opium gala on Saturday night but Ellen e-mailed me that she was going solo to the Friday night event and taking the train from Long Island into Penn Station and did I want to meet her there? Ha, yep, no arm twisting needed for that, and I'm a huge fan of Jim Ruland. He once wrote a story about a cook in the Navy who was so excited by the prospect of a warm roast beef in the oven that he had no choice but to, well, fuck it before slicing it down and serving it to his comrades. I laughed my ass off when I read it so I'm excited to meet Jim -- he's also a member of Zoetrope so we "know" each other. Ellen tells me that Sam Lipsyte is equally hilarious; she just read his book and when Ellen recommends something, I listen.

So that should be very cool and like I said, 2006 is already proving to be very interesting.

Yikes...hang on. I may stay overnight in New York for the Saturday evening gala after all. Lou Reed is doing a book signing (photography book) at Hermes, 691 Madison Avenue on Saturday afternoon from 3:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m.

Hmmm...

Hey, I just found out Three Days in New York City placed number #11 in the Preditors and Editors Readers Poll, Best Mainstream Novel 2005 (published by an independent press, of course).

Err...mainstream? Okayyyyy....

I'm really glad I'm all alone at the moment. You wouldn't have wanted to witness the spectacle of what I did when I got the news a few minutes ago. Let's just say chest pounding was involved. With both fists. And some weird Tarzan like primal screams I didn't know I could make.

Okay, let me slip this announcement in here. Eric has two huge auditions - one tonight, one next week. That's all I am allowed to say at this point. Of course auditions are auditions so even if they go really well it may be a while before anything happens...but maybe tomorrow morning I'll be able to spill a little of what went on this evening before I leave for New York in the afternoon.

In unrelated news, Eric, C.J. Tywoniak, Louis Graff, and Max DiMezza are performing Elephant Talk and Indiscipline for Adrian Belew on Tuesday night. If you follow the link on Adrian's site, you'll see that he's doing a series of concerts and workshops for Rock School kids next week, and since Eric, Louie, and Max are graduates and Rock School Hall of Famers, they're going to play for him in sort of a showcase.

Sob...I'm not invited. Though given my recent behavior around celebrities, it's probably best I stay home. (Now, now...I am over the Gaiman incident finally and besides, I've already met Adrian Belew but the truth is, this is an intimate gathering of Adrian and the Rock School grads and I don't want to stand there like some overbearing stage mother, anyway, god forbid. Though trust me, I am not a stage mother, just a proud one.)

Anyway, Eric is performing for Belew at 5:00 p.m.; immediately after that I have to whisk him to New York for his show with his band, Flamingo, at the Knitting Factory...he doesn't go on until 10:00 p.m.

It's funny how my New York trips always go in spurts. Tomorrow, Tuesday, and then...? Ha ha - someone call me. I'm available.

For a reading, for a reading.

Sheesh.

Later,
xo

Last night's reading at Community College (a/k/a what I learned from the Neil Gaiman reading)

Ha ha - thanks to one of my partners in crime, author Ellen Meister who took pity on my lack of the photogenic gene and turned the below photo Julie snapped of me on Tuesday into these cool head shots. By the way, click on Ellen's link. This time rather than link you to her blog (which she doesn't update daily because, ahem, she's working on her second hard cover book for Morrow/Avon and she's got a deadline), I'm sending you directly to her Publishers Marketplace page...and you can say you met her here first because trust me, after this summer when her debut novel hits the stores, she's going to be a superstar.

So. All day yesterday prior to the reading at Community College, I was a wreck. I have no idea why this was; I've done a ton of readings to usually very nice receptions, but there is one that comes back to haunt me from time to time that I try and put out of my mind but for some reason, it made an appearance yesterday bigtime and I literally started to shake even though I knew for sure the same thing couldn't possibly happen twice...because I'd never make the mistake I made there again. More on that in a minute...

Up until around a week ago, I was going to read Chapter One from Three Days in New York City. But to be honest, because I was reading at a college and not a bar I started thinking it was inappropriate as the first chapter contains phrases like "nipple clamps" and "this whip looks like a limp...(fill in the blank)". So then I thought, okay, I'll read a couple flashes I've written recently...they're short and I won't lose the crowd's attention. But then I remembered I'm reading with Randall Brown, who, along with my pal Joe Young is like Grandmaster Flash of the Universe, and I figured anything I read would pale in comparison. Yeah, yeah, take a Dale Carnegie course or something, Rob.

Suddenly, I realized I had the perfect story already written -- well, almost already written -- and even better, I could kill two birds with one stone. Because after torturing myself for days, I figured the one way I could get over the shame of the Neil Gaiman signing incident and redeem myself would be to turn it into a short story. Okay, a memoir, but right now, thank you very much James Frey, I am afraid to even use that word. Ha! (Though I still think he was lynched on Oprah, which I do not normally watch but my son wanted to see it so I stuck around for five minutes and I cringed so much for this poor schmuck I had to walk out of the room. Trust me, I'm not defending Frey...in fact, if you want to see exactly how I feel and put much more eloquently...please go visit my friend Susan Henderson's website.)

So I took my Gaiman blog post of last week and put a little backstory in, tightened it up considerably, and ended up with what I hoped would be a fairly entertaining read.

Okay, first shock is: I walked into Community College and not only was the room fairly large -- it was a lecture room -- it was packed with teachers and students and other writers and even people from my neighborhood! Arghhh! (I live less than a mile away from the school). Not only did they have a podium with two microphones, there was a video camera set up and when you're at that podium, that camera is right on you and oh my god, I am so glad I did not know that in advance.

I of course wore a black Bob Dylan t-shirt and jeans. Oh alright, video camera or not, I would have worn it anyway, so who am I kidding.

Anyway, there was a host of introductions, Carla and Christine came up and talked about Philadelphia Stories, and they were totally cool -- even announced how I was a long time member of their editorial board and that Randall Brown had now come aboard as editor thereby making me want to come off of sabbatical and give them a hand editing again because Randall is so much fun and such an awesome writer.

And speaking of Randall, he read first and oh boy did I make a wise decision not to read my flashes because Randall read from what will be his flash collection - he even held up a color copy of its cover -- and he was awesome. Especially terrific was a story he wrote about a father torturing his mother-in-law via his young son.

David Floyd read next -- he's a brilliant poet with a new book coming out later this year but I found this poem of his online which I wish, wish, wish he had read last night because I like it so much and is so on target with how I feel most of the time I should just have it made into a (black) t-shirt:

Pensee of the Shameless

If there were such a place as a shame place,
he'd owe so much rent in shame
he'd eventually be evicted,
so he made up his mind
not to go there
to this place that he didn't want to exist,
and because his mind was so made up
he found every kiss that follows
a first kiss isn't as good as a first kiss,
but he was willing to try to prove himself
wrong with any willing woman,
and when the weather within him
was grainy and almost soundless
like some pornography of sky,
he found his own stratification
for his climate,
even though it meant being a southpaw
to the right-minded with perfect reasons,
even though it meant they'd drop salt
on his name-he wanted to be a bird
without the weight of feathers.

Whew. How good was that?

Okay, anyway, then they introduce me. One thing I learned at Neil Gaiman's reading last week was how he engaged the crowd. I watched him closely, he smiled at us, he paused at all the right places...he made us feel like he was reading to each of us personally. And he also had a pitcher of water and freely took sips while he read.

So I'm all prepared; I've not only brought along a bottle of Poland Spring water, I've brought a plastic cup from home because when I drink straight from the bottle, I get the hiccups, and that's just another fun fact about me I'm sure you're better off not knowing. (Hey, it's better I tell you about that than about my aversion to people touching my feet. Oh hell, I just did, didn't I. Well, it's not that I am foot paranoid; it's just that I'm extremely ticklish, and if you touch my feet, well, for some reason that has a direct connection to my bladder...and....oy, never mind).

Naturally, when they called my name to come up and read, my first act was to leave the bottle of water and cup under my seat and as soon as I stood at the podium and realized what I'd done, instead of being a normal human being and fetching it, I stood there for a brief moment convinced I had drymouth and was going to start coughing uncontrollably. And then I looked straight into that television camera...and yep, it was in fact a television camera and if you have Comcast cable or any other local cable carrier in Philadelphia and surrounding suburbs, you'll be able to watch this on the Philadelphia Community College cable channel, which I believe is Channel 53, in the very near future and I will post a link as soon as I get the word when.

I started out by holding up a copy of Three Days in New York and talking about it and why I would not be reading it from tonight (can you say nipple clamps?) and that made the crowd laugh which instantly relaxed me. So then I started winging it.

"Do you guys know who Neil Gaiman is?"

And of course most everyone in the room shouted out YEAH!

"Okay," I said. "Is there anyone in this room who doesn't know who Neil Gaiman is?"

And one (fellow)dork raised his hand and said "No" so I said "Well, you're going to find out who he is in this story I'm about to read, but as a brief background, he's a very famous writer who I met last week...and I made such an idiot of myself that I really had no choice but to write about it...(crowd laughed bigtime which was very cool)...and so, without further ado, "The Night I Met Neil Gaiman and Confirmed I am a Dork". (And then everyone REALLY laughed).

So that set up the story nicely and had me almost Zen-like calm and forgetting about no water, etc. Taking a cue from Gaiman, I really tried to engage the audience. When I got to parts like "He's using my pen! He's using my pen!" I actually acted them out and grabbed onto the podium like it was Eric's arm. So I had the audience eating out of my sweaty neurotic little palm and I still don't believe it.

If I've ever written a more crowd pleasing piece, I'm not aware of it. Well, I did get a great response to Three Days when I read at KGB in New York, but that's because everyone was drunk. Ha.

Which reminds me of the incident I mentioned above -- the one reading I wish I could forget but never will. It was held at TIXE in New York in 2003 at a very cutting edge art gallery. The reading was scheduled for a Saturday evening, so Julie and I decided to make a weekend of it and we stayed at a beautiful hotel Friday and Saturday nights, with our plan being to do Christmas shopping during the day Saturday, eat a gourmet meal somewhere, and then head off to the reading.

What the hell was I thinking? You can't trudge all over New York easily during Christmas season, eat a big meal, and then go read. I didn't even practice reading out loud beforehand! And get this -- while we're out shopping, it started to snow like crazy, and we were all the way at like 5th Avenue and 57th Street and our hotel was over by the U.N. Building miles away. Okay, not miles, but in a snowstorm, it felt like miles, and naturally, there were no cabs and Julie hadn't yet mastered New York's subway system. (She now has, Julie being Julie, and too cheap for cabs though not too cheap to have Mom take her to Le Bec Fin for lunch...see post of January 30)

Anyway, we were freezing and exhausted when we showed up at TIXE, and this you won't believe altogether. It was so trendy chic in there that they only had one single light bulb hanging above this dark, dark stage in the back of the gallery. And for some ungodly reason, I'd printed out my story in like number 10 font. Since I am no longer twenty years old but still hadn't caved and bought those dreaded bifocals, I couldn't see a thing. I mean, really. I held my pages in front of me on that stage, with my daughter in the audience for the very first time, and was totally and completely helpless. And here's this hip, New York crowd sitting on the floor, drinking jug wine, and I just knew they were mocking me. (They weren't...that was just me being me). But I felt like Bambi when he got the news his mommy had died.

I tried, I really did, but I just couldn't see. I read a few lines, stumbled, then asked for more light only to be told "there is no more light!" and I definitely heard someone say "she should get herself some glasses"...so combine that with how tired I was and how devastated I was that Julie had to witness my shame, that I simply walked off the stage and said "I can't do this."

Lucky for me, there was a real live actress in the audience who was only too happy to read my work for me and she was kind and wonderful and I don't remember her name but I will be forever grateful to her even though I will also forever wallow in shame. I made up my mind that night I would never be unprepared for a reading again. I would print my work out in size 16 font, memorize the piece anyway if I could, and if I needed glasses I'd freaking get them. (As it turns out, I did not require bifocals...just some normal lighting in the room, damn it!)

Anyway, none of that happened last night. I hate to say this, but you know I am always putting myself down so if I'm saying it now, you know it has to be true. Last night I FUCKING RULED!!!!!

However...

I just read over the last chapter of my novel in progress a few minutes ago -- a section I worked on late last night when I was all hyped up -- and let me change that statement.

I FUCKING SUCK!!!!

Ha.

Okay, obviously I am now off to edit, damn it.

P.S. By the way, Neil Gaiman has a new website which went live today with a brand new blog format. Dear god, am I going to have to look at that picture of him every day now? Okay, okay, I mean...ten times a day now? Heart be still. Though if you ask me, he should have used this one instead:



Anyway, go see Neil's new blog (ha ha - yeah, he's "Neil" now). It's right here.

Later...
xo