tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69620093977934468042024-03-14T05:18:31.770-04:00Focus TigerMiss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-84346771676178570762015-03-16T11:41:00.000-04:002015-03-16T19:09:03.441-04:00I'm writing! WRITING!<div class="MsoNormal">
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Last week, my Friday morning started like any other. I woke
up, drank three Red Bulls, then lounged around in bed, reading, until I decided
to get up and look at the internet. Only, when I sat down and opened my laptop,
instead of going right to Twitter like usual, I opened a Word document and
started typing words. <br />
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I don’t know what possessed me. And these were not status
update words I was typing, or book talk words. These were fake words. And lots
of them. About fake things. A whole fake story started to take place. I hadn’t
made up a fake story this quickly since the time I tried to impress my neighbor
by telling her that I, at seven years old, had indeed gone to the theater to
see the R-rated movie 'Flashdance' on my own, and I could prove it by telling her
the plot. (“No, she didn’t drive a Porsche.” “Are you sure you didn’t get up to
go to the bathroom during the movie? Because I definitely saw her driving a
Porsche.”)<o:p></o:p></div>
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As a voracious reader, the question people ask me most
often, after “What are you reading?” and “Whose blood is that?” is “Are you a writer?” And my answer is always “Nooooooooooo. No, not me. I just read the
books.” And it’s true. I mean, yes, I write about books all the time. And, yes, I realize that writing about anything makes you a writer. But in my small brain, I've only ever thought of myself as a reader. Everyone else is doing the real writing. (I'm trying to work past this with Chuck Wendig's <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/08/06/are-you-a-real-writer-a-handy-and-hasty-flowchart/">handy chart</a>.)<br />
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And I haven’t written made-up stuff in forever. When I
was a little kid, I used to write stories all the time, but I haven’t written
fiction since I was a freshman (not counting the weight on my license) and I’ve
only ever considered myself a professional reader. I even get indignant sometimes
when people insist I should write: “What’s wrong with just wanting to be a
reader???” Spoiler: Nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So imagine my surprise when a story started pouring out of
my brain. I swear it wasn’t there the day before. Was I happy as I typed?
Honestly? No. I was terrified. What was happening to me??? My boyfriend entered
the room as I was typing and said the look on my face was one of sheer panic.
The word count went up: 300. 750. 1,200. I was afraid to stop. “I’m writing! I’M
WRITING!” I said, doing my best imitation of Bill Murray on the boat in 'What About Bob?'<o:p></o:p></div>
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This elation quickly turned back to panic, and at one point
I stood up, sure I was about to be sick to my stomach. Something must have
happened to me overnight. I searched for an explanation: The cats poured something strange in my ears. I was struck by lightning through the window. I had a stroke in my sleep. I couldn't figure it out. Where did this
story come from? I’m a reader, not a writer! But on I typed. Maybe I was still having
a stroke.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Several hours later, at 3,500 words, I stopped, worried that
it was too good to be true, and that I would ruin the magic if I pressed on. I
showed my boyfriend what I had so far. “This is the beginning of a real
book!” he said. Which made me want to throw up all over again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I finally understand what writers are always on about. I feel
like I’ve been transported to a different land where I’m just starting to learn
the language, and I have so many questions! I haven’t gone back to my story
yet, for fear of not being able to write any more. But I want to! I have been
googling writing advice, and I have learned that everyone has a different
opinion on what to do next. “Let it sit until you’re ready.” “Write 750 words a
day, no matter what.” “Ask for feedback.” “Don’t show it to anyone until you’re
done.” My head is dizzy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I do know is that I am happy to be in this new land,
and I’m excited about the adventure, even if I only have one stamp on my passport.
I think I can get the hang of it here. I’M WRITING!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now excuse me while I go throw up. </div>
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Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-38043326036247801892013-12-27T11:00:00.002-05:002014-01-04T08:22:03.734-05:00Eyes to the FrontlistHere's the 2014 that I'm anticipating. I'm sure there's a ton more I'm forgetting!<br />
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Some of these I have already read - I am so excited to start handselling them!<br />
<br />
The Weirdness by Jeremy Bushnell<br />
Euphoria by Lily King<br />
A Highly Unlikely Scenario by Rachel Cantor<br />
The Painter by Peter Heller<br />
Next Life Might Be Kinder by Howard Norman<br />
Cutting Teeth by Julia Fierro<br />
The Fever by Megan Abbott<br />
The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison<br />
Independent Study and Graduation Day by Joelle Charbonneau<br />
Annihilation, Authority and Acceptance by Jeff VanderMeer<br />
The Secret of Raven Point by Jennifer Vanderbes<br />
The Martian by Andrew Weir<br />
Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi<br />
Thunderstruck and Other Stories by Elizabeth McCracken<br />
The Vacationers by Emma Straub<br />
California by Edan Lepucki<br />
Lucky Us by Amy Bloom<br />
This Dark Road to Mercy by Wiley Cash<br />
Fallen Beauty by Erika Robuck<br />
A Few Seconds of Radiant Filmstrip by Kevin Brockmeier<br />
The Quick by Lauren Owen<br />
Queen of the Night by Alexander Chee<br />
The Last Days of California by Mary Miller<br />
The Noble Hustle by Colson Whitehead<br />
The Swan Gondola by Timothy Schaffert<br />
Life Drawing by Robin Black<br />
Made to Break by D. Foy<br />
The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters<br />
Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng<br />
The Mark and the Void by Paul Murray<br />
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel<br />
A Man Called Destruction by Holly George-Warren<br />
In the Course of Human Events by Mike Harvkey<br />
The Enchanted by Rene Denfeld<br />
Redeployment by Phil Klay<br />
Astonish Me by Maggie Shipstead<br />
The Visionist by Rachel Urquhart<br />
The Girl with All the Gifts by M.R. Carey<br />
Save the Date by Jen Doll<br />
The Accident by Chris Pavone<br />
Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith<br />
My Real Children by Jo Walton<br />
How to Tell Toledo from the Night Sky by Lydia Netzer<br />
Landline by Rainbow Rowell<br />
We Were Liars by E. Lockhart<br />
Shirley by Susan Scarf Merrell<br />
Cataract City by Craig Davidson<br />
On Being Blue by William Gass<br />
Funny Once by Antonya Nelson<br />
A Life in Men by Gina Frangello<br />
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin<br />
If Only You People Could Follow Directions by Jessic Hendry Nelson<br />
Dark Duets ed. by Christopher Golden<br />
The Last Illusion by Porochista Khakpour<br />
An Untamed State by Roxane Gay<br />
Ripper by Isabel Allende<br />
Remember Me Like This by Bret Antony Johnston<br />
Unremarried Widow by Artis Henderson<br />
The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness<br />
High as the Horses' Bridles by Scott Cheshire<br />
The Unamericans by Molly Antopol<br />
Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson<br />
Wonderland by Stacy D'Erasmo<br />
Close Your Eyes, Hold Hands by Chris Bohjalian<br />
The Bellweather Rhapsody by Kate Racculia<br />
The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell<br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #333333; font-family: 'Segoe UI', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Photo courtesy muffin9101985 - Creative Commons</span></div>
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Update: Thanks to Sarah Weinman for reminding me about David Mitchell. I think I am SO excited for that one, it melted my brain.<br />
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-63297213314486444812013-12-20T08:31:00.000-05:002013-12-20T21:25:56.002-05:00Happy Birthday, Little Spoon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-73542332807475079072013-11-19T12:10:00.001-05:002013-11-19T12:10:21.075-05:00Two Years with the Fur Dragons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-25383155916345882182013-08-14T10:44:00.002-04:002013-08-14T10:44:40.292-04:00Fur Dragons and the Circle of Doom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgooIrdkGBqJBZCPAmP0TXI0tdjoDJ5GaZaeHtjaIKwAP-u4g4MdqIvpccl0RRx0RqnfMvVSs0zsOjc7NyR-z1zxAm4Kp8ermspMofnM64eupt5VJ0E6sfluyWg1ShaHWeBw0QxNNRd0Pt/s1600/IMG_20130707_205756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgooIrdkGBqJBZCPAmP0TXI0tdjoDJ5GaZaeHtjaIKwAP-u4g4MdqIvpccl0RRx0RqnfMvVSs0zsOjc7NyR-z1zxAm4Kp8ermspMofnM64eupt5VJ0E6sfluyWg1ShaHWeBw0QxNNRd0Pt/s320/IMG_20130707_205756.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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*Loud crash in the kitchen*</div>
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ME: *waking up* What the hell was that?!</div>
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CATS: Come and see! </div>
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ME: *goes in kitchen* You idiots knocked over my hoop.</div>
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CATS: No, we have slayed the Giant Circle of Doom!</div>
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ME: Whatevs, psychos.</div>
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CATS: We saved your life! It was plotting to suck out your brains with its black hole.</div>
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ME: The fuck it was. </div>
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CATS: Give us treats!</div>
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ME: It's 4:30 in the morning. </div>
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CATS: PRAISE US, ASSHOLE!</div>
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ME: I'm going back to bed. *picks up hoop*</div>
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CATS: OH EM GEE DON'T TOUCH IT. YOU'RE DOOMED.</div>
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ME: Try and behave now.</div>
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CATS: Doooooooooooom.</div>
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-88198647843815160052013-07-05T23:01:00.002-04:002013-07-05T23:02:19.768-04:00The fur dragons are hot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYn44D5PJ8MgsRbAYe0H_Lklfp-seCl91hswX_X5ALhXQJ_Q8VDAbx_qa3yy0mSbd_-VQr872UfVbeTyKoA3v7kBktj6yNEtQ9p_vbEavkmKFywUkQ_NwdlY_mLac_yS8l2b-wDHTcNcj/s1600/IMG_20130705_215253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYn44D5PJ8MgsRbAYe0H_Lklfp-seCl91hswX_X5ALhXQJ_Q8VDAbx_qa3yy0mSbd_-VQr872UfVbeTyKoA3v7kBktj6yNEtQ9p_vbEavkmKFywUkQ_NwdlY_mLac_yS8l2b-wDHTcNcj/s320/IMG_20130705_215253.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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CATS: It's so hot in here! Fix it, mortal!</div>
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ME: It's cooler in the other room. You know, the one with the air conditioner?</div>
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CATS: But we want to be in this room!</div>
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ME: Then you're going to be hot.</div>
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CATS: Fix it! Fixitfixitfixit!</div>
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ME: Well, I'm sorry, but the air conditioner only fits in the window in the other room.</div>
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CATS: YOU INCONSIDERATE ASSHOLE! REVEAL TO US YOUR FAVORITE THING SO THAT WE MAY THROW UP ON IT WHILE YOU SLEEP!</div>
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-39010319780800309002013-05-10T10:28:00.002-04:002013-05-10T10:28:32.433-04:00Awesome Richard Peck is Awesome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfy68nhKS16ep7gT2YEIAb_Rn2yHKHAM2dH6-E4uTbkBcumToC-SS61Sqbkm9JANkLVL-6obbGYeZ9JZH5osQfDt5cN6xctiaYQKxqRXmzsaslbm7FYGbd3hNlz97GN-0X1UOluYzjD0r/s1600/richardpeck1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfy68nhKS16ep7gT2YEIAb_Rn2yHKHAM2dH6-E4uTbkBcumToC-SS61Sqbkm9JANkLVL-6obbGYeZ9JZH5osQfDt5cN6xctiaYQKxqRXmzsaslbm7FYGbd3hNlz97GN-0X1UOluYzjD0r/s320/richardpeck1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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“I read because one life isn't enough, and in the page of a book I can be anybody;</div>
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I read because the words that build the story become mine, to build my life;</div>
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I read not for happy endings but for new beginnings; I'm just beginning myself, and I wouldn't mind a map;</div>
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I read because I have friends who don't, and young though they are, they're beginning to run out of material;</div>
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I read because every journey begins at the library, and it's time for me to start packing;</div>
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I read because one of these days I'm going to get out of this town, and I'm going to go everywhere and meet everybody, and I want to be ready.” </div>
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<i>- from Anonymously Yours</i></div>
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-70968306414762381772013-04-01T11:11:00.003-04:002013-04-01T11:11:43.712-04:00In the Desert by Stephen Crane<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-EG2jV37YZyLgAd9PRlvMU0bGknoerLuFHFJ4nQFo8tkzcZHg3vAPjcJPM3j6OifNevNc65f3jURcD1nw4wHb4RmqKgfgFllvbFz-YcOKaL1w6argZd6nvCFjHcNhG71pgzohKNty6LG/s1600/55374124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-EG2jV37YZyLgAd9PRlvMU0bGknoerLuFHFJ4nQFo8tkzcZHg3vAPjcJPM3j6OifNevNc65f3jURcD1nw4wHb4RmqKgfgFllvbFz-YcOKaL1w6argZd6nvCFjHcNhG71pgzohKNty6LG/s320/55374124.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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In the desert</div>
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I saw a creature, naked, bestial,</div>
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Who, squatting upon the ground,</div>
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Held his heart in his hands,</div>
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And ate of it.</div>
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I said, “Is it good, friend?”</div>
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“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;</div>
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<br /></div>
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“But I like it</div>
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“Because it is bitter,</div>
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“And because it is my heart.”</div>
Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-36986758185318572312013-03-16T21:46:00.001-04:002013-03-16T21:46:15.315-04:00In Praise of Self-Deprecation by Wislawa Szymborska<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWNINC5o1IVJwozNV_IgAKHJfC2FrrjsAa9c_deFcUhVvkfZToVBoqpBMlEMp4fuIh6BxSSKRJVDJdENhQY0pnXpuDOmoaBMJlRqA2a7VwsbflhE9EQdB2B_GucYwaQ9jsuqBEN3RL7l1X/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWNINC5o1IVJwozNV_IgAKHJfC2FrrjsAa9c_deFcUhVvkfZToVBoqpBMlEMp4fuIh6BxSSKRJVDJdENhQY0pnXpuDOmoaBMJlRqA2a7VwsbflhE9EQdB2B_GucYwaQ9jsuqBEN3RL7l1X/s1600/images+(1).jpg" /></a></div>
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The buzzard has nothing to fault himself with.</div>
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Scruples are alien to the black panther.</div>
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Piranhas do not doubt the rightness of their actions.</div>
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The rattlesnake approves of himself without reservations.</div>
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The self-critical jackal does not exist.</div>
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The locust, alligator, trichina, horsefly</div>
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live as they live and are glad of it.</div>
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The killer whale’s heart weighs one hundred kilos</div>
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but in other respects it is light.</div>
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There is nothing more animal-like</div>
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than a clear conscience</div>
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on the third planet of the Sun.</div>
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-62673107060820335002013-03-03T10:45:00.001-05:002013-03-03T10:45:54.919-05:00sunday before noon by Charles Bukowski<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvOW8_OBamUbRKHxSeZUVdOStm-kbCll-hw8ZEB74523SNpagItNstKLTflu6VkfcLqec6fe-2xktlemVZ5SrXpv-neYPBcDvxbMeKNuOXy7YHVfY-aD9q02J7KRwOcKsjbD6Aeq30LMB/s1600/charles_bukowski21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvOW8_OBamUbRKHxSeZUVdOStm-kbCll-hw8ZEB74523SNpagItNstKLTflu6VkfcLqec6fe-2xktlemVZ5SrXpv-neYPBcDvxbMeKNuOXy7YHVfY-aD9q02J7KRwOcKsjbD6Aeq30LMB/s320/charles_bukowski21.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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spinach, Gabriel</div>
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all fall down,</div>
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all fall down and blow,</div>
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barbados, barbados,</div>
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where are yr toes?</div>
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<br /></div>
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the branches break, the birds fall, the buildings burn,</div>
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the whores stand straight,</div>
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the bombs stack,</div>
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evening, morning, night,</div>
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peanutbutter,</div>
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peanutbutter falcons,</div>
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rain breathing like lilies from the top of my head,</div>
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pincers pincers</div>
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kisses like steel clamps</div>
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mouths full of moths,</div>
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hydra-headed cocksuckers,</div>
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Florida in full moon,</div>
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shark with mouthful of man</div>
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man with mouthful of peanutbutter, rain</div>
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rain peeking into the guts of grey hours,</div>
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horses dreaming of horses,</div>
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flowers dreaming of flowers, </div>
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horses running with greyhour pieces of my lovely flesh,</div>
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bread burning, all Spain on fire and </div>
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cities dreaming of craters,</div>
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bombs bigger than the brains of anything,</div>
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going down</div>
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are the clocks cocks roosters?</div>
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the roosters stand on the fence</div>
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the roosters are peanutbutter crowing,</div>
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the FLAME will be high, the flame will be big,</div>
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kiss kiss kiss</div>
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everything away,</div>
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I hope it rains today, I hope</div>
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the jets die, I hope</div>
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the kitten finds a mouse, I hope</div>
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I don't see it, I hope</div>
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it rains, I hope</div>
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anything away from here,</div>
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I hope a bridge, a fish, a cactus somewhere</div>
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strutting whiskers to the noon,</div>
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I dream flowers and horses</div>
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the branches break the birds fall the buildings </div>
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burn, my whore walks across the room and</div>
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smiles at me.</div>
<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-25866088312939649572012-11-24T11:59:00.000-05:002012-11-24T11:59:31.584-05:00Life is Amazing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscBTLmWd-4FdCFqluMnLsirfax2Q3wr687Fe0C9puiOxSWoNA0KMME1xZT7p_dsnTPr1mdqaxrEDfYTBEEX142EnWtwcsHuuZ4-e3FN3wvpRLjkZcmTIYDPzygcA1is21XvcJyGAWwIyb/s1600/18_sliding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscBTLmWd-4FdCFqluMnLsirfax2Q3wr687Fe0C9puiOxSWoNA0KMME1xZT7p_dsnTPr1mdqaxrEDfYTBEEX142EnWtwcsHuuZ4-e3FN3wvpRLjkZcmTIYDPzygcA1is21XvcJyGAWwIyb/s400/18_sliding.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer."</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>- Friedrich Nietzsche </i></span></span></div>
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Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-49326338197328212382012-11-11T09:21:00.001-05:002012-11-11T09:21:34.447-05:00God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5HVBLSdB3noeFI4wwHJuDB7rXyD4Y4hvYQK2OPuwRey0HcRVJI6jHWX0iXHc3uqI-1AgYdfAU00pI31-LcORgDx63lmpHW9x1KQGpZkoDeECGyFC58k15hfXaI7LVhG097DfbSe1s1I8/s1600/monday2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5HVBLSdB3noeFI4wwHJuDB7rXyD4Y4hvYQK2OPuwRey0HcRVJI6jHWX0iXHc3uqI-1AgYdfAU00pI31-LcORgDx63lmpHW9x1KQGpZkoDeECGyFC58k15hfXaI7LVhG097DfbSe1s1I8/s1600/monday2.jpg" /></a></div>
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"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind."</div>
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Kurt Vonnegut, November 11. 1922 - April 11, 2007</div>
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-42268910785901873812012-10-27T16:16:00.002-04:002012-10-27T16:16:50.708-04:00Scream It So the Cheap Seats Can Hear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic38rfbKFNHc3j4lK2UkBaILKxxr2H5XCaIfGSq0NWjEJkUHw5eBMS_dJPHL6F8tV2Opm8e5E2BDYASsuvKbwEchB90Y1yA0wogL-fZxkVUE8vz4XnLe1uigB1c3ZyVNM_fvghvhZaw3h4/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic38rfbKFNHc3j4lK2UkBaILKxxr2H5XCaIfGSq0NWjEJkUHw5eBMS_dJPHL6F8tV2Opm8e5E2BDYASsuvKbwEchB90Y1yA0wogL-fZxkVUE8vz4XnLe1uigB1c3ZyVNM_fvghvhZaw3h4/s320/books.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out." </div>
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- <u>Dylan Thomas</u></div>
<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-45155962103448244872012-10-24T11:02:00.002-04:002012-10-24T11:03:26.843-04:00I Want To Kiss This Quote On the Mouth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRF2Yv-KquSiieCICN5f8_aYYf7tzi4V-fsU168_1sUB9iKDVp1icxabOfTeiozBmivy0wN5rvm9EC11-DiVUsFAFGLwdq6ihy4Oul9ljN6fsxIILHYvVZsIuD1ekViS5C5wyIZ77PbrIX/s1600/555537_461724223845602_403650747_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRF2Yv-KquSiieCICN5f8_aYYf7tzi4V-fsU168_1sUB9iKDVp1icxabOfTeiozBmivy0wN5rvm9EC11-DiVUsFAFGLwdq6ihy4Oul9ljN6fsxIILHYvVZsIuD1ekViS5C5wyIZ77PbrIX/s1600/555537_461724223845602_403650747_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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“The main effort of arranging your life should be to progressively reduce the amount of time required to decently maintain yourself so that you can have all the time you want for reading.”<br />
- <u>Norman Rush</u><br />
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<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-39250410468029891992012-09-24T12:01:00.000-04:002012-09-24T12:01:54.471-04:00Why Write<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2Bo6lk4dcLfomP60mMtxfofFsmttdoqTQCrQP3AgtIHO2TgRzVQC8-yxU8uOfta_Cf12uO_mq5PcCQrFy7IJwmDO_7KSSyUnjx-YQjSYSELiE-YnbiFPIqwqw_zpimbiJhb7_xKF5PX_/s1600/00341542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2Bo6lk4dcLfomP60mMtxfofFsmttdoqTQCrQP3AgtIHO2TgRzVQC8-yxU8uOfta_Cf12uO_mq5PcCQrFy7IJwmDO_7KSSyUnjx-YQjSYSELiE-YnbiFPIqwqw_zpimbiJhb7_xKF5PX_/s320/00341542.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Why Write</div>
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i've always look for joy as a pretext to write</div>
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but could not or would not</div>
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fall face down upon the knot of pain which seems </div>
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to make even the simplest things</div>
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a complete and frightening mystery.</div>
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this way i have avoided being torn</div>
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by the terrific closeness with that heart-shaped weapon</div>
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which makes us die. i have left out</div>
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important fragments of my life. i've taken only</div>
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the juice out of the squalor. i have avoided </div>
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loving more than i <i>could</i> love.</div>
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- Andrei Codrescu</div>
<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-47199673693993691632012-09-23T19:06:00.000-04:002012-09-23T19:06:38.796-04:00Books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt98gCF4ZpVdce6rOnH_QiRxZDNjMUGsnfyYNtlmKHMX_tNhkQy2kL_OXtiLRe8yCHfEUi7hQKTpaomLbPrpho0NBaYgyxFHFmxSdwQXuCxfgTk7cm86FLh-ibe-w_D4AwjbtN7athFUE_/s1600/pileofbooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt98gCF4ZpVdce6rOnH_QiRxZDNjMUGsnfyYNtlmKHMX_tNhkQy2kL_OXtiLRe8yCHfEUi7hQKTpaomLbPrpho0NBaYgyxFHFmxSdwQXuCxfgTk7cm86FLh-ibe-w_D4AwjbtN7athFUE_/s320/pileofbooks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Books</div>
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death covers me with a fine dust.</div>
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i love fat used books. they are</div>
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like used fat bodies coming out of sleep </div>
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covered with fingerprints and shiny </div>
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snail trails.</div>
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i wish to read the way i love:</div>
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jumping from mirror to mirror like a drop of oil</div>
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father and farther from my death.</div>
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but god gives us fat books and fat bodies</div>
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to use for different reasons</div>
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and less a metaphor i cannot say</div>
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what haunts me</div>
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- Andrei Codrescu</div>
<br />Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-17237709246229879662012-09-11T08:32:00.001-04:002012-09-11T08:32:59.918-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu1dPO-nZHoptSidadhqbjWnn0NbF-Ul4LGvIImKmcw5TFd73haGvx30hyphenhyphen9hu6_BtZmEe513_U-_mYfkOHfKgdcj_MFxVBJKb92rbZyhhkPn-HRUTO3NuYwHGlIw2N1NcgnCXFcuALEDr-/s1600/passionate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu1dPO-nZHoptSidadhqbjWnn0NbF-Ul4LGvIImKmcw5TFd73haGvx30hyphenhyphen9hu6_BtZmEe513_U-_mYfkOHfKgdcj_MFxVBJKb92rbZyhhkPn-HRUTO3NuYwHGlIw2N1NcgnCXFcuALEDr-/s320/passionate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="huge" style="border: 0px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot.</span><span class="huge" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="border: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="huge" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;"><u>- D.H. Lawrence</u></span>
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Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-33904001980558567602012-06-12T13:29:00.000-04:002012-06-12T13:37:38.826-04:00Bibliognost in the Big City<div>
I arrived in NYC on Monday, where I spent the afternoon in Word Brooklyn, buying books, because I don't own any. Or because I have an addiction to buying books. One of these things is true. Then Stephanie took me to lunch at Five Leaves, where they make dreams THAT YOU CAN EAT. These are the ricotta pancakes. I want to move to Greenpoint so I can eat them every day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii39rKTh2ky3krw1-rS0WaUJOQNDVtVPQzWhOFXQlxlzPmOTreHJvectllstj4GMNXnMePIo4xbCKPBXKHDgplLLQwar12OpeJXN2thN8-ARmNOu6fYP_m7LTcmtRwfVF9M6ZBppLc4aZ/s1600/2012-06-04+14.29.57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii39rKTh2ky3krw1-rS0WaUJOQNDVtVPQzWhOFXQlxlzPmOTreHJvectllstj4GMNXnMePIo4xbCKPBXKHDgplLLQwar12OpeJXN2thN8-ARmNOu6fYP_m7LTcmtRwfVF9M6ZBppLc4aZ/s320/2012-06-04+14.29.57.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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After lunch, we went shopping, where I discovered it is legal in New York to sell house cats in convenience stores.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_DpY4L9EjHy4gEI2WZ6hwYpjX0RQE4qhaK-S4DIktdHOuPYbyusYVeBFcPKxD3mPhtNZ3d65nwIispMEpMwHME_MNcHl7YEm44hKkidnoPsFlGH4kYu-W-cZ3lDZL-UjtheoSarJ29vK/s1600/2012-06-04+15.41.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_DpY4L9EjHy4gEI2WZ6hwYpjX0RQE4qhaK-S4DIktdHOuPYbyusYVeBFcPKxD3mPhtNZ3d65nwIispMEpMwHME_MNcHl7YEm44hKkidnoPsFlGH4kYu-W-cZ3lDZL-UjtheoSarJ29vK/s320/2012-06-04+15.41.11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Later, we met up with Josh and Jenn and Rebecca, where I posed with Stephanie and Rebs for the greatest redhead picture in the history of redheads.</div>
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After dinner, we attended the fantastic Bookrageous party at Housing Works Bookstore. I finally got to meet dozens of people from the internet that I had never met before - it was great! It turns out, I'm a hugger.</div>
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The next day, I headed out for my first day of Book Expo America. This is the lobby of the Javits Center, where BEA was held. Javits is ENORMOUS. You could fit all of immediate downtown Portsmouth inside. But you wouldn't want to, because then there would be no place for books.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWTZTbmnpQGPyFcYPK-vmWUqjYHzHHgeosqLInuKdOzUyH-vgaRJo5oDi7R4sTY8G1MahBGNszFBJVTVy0aBsTdooj6eTg44-jIvJZTM4Hx78b27SFoCp32c5PK7fcEWrKuFCEgm0mMDq/s1600/2012-06-05+08.16.59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWTZTbmnpQGPyFcYPK-vmWUqjYHzHHgeosqLInuKdOzUyH-vgaRJo5oDi7R4sTY8G1MahBGNszFBJVTVy0aBsTdooj6eTg44-jIvJZTM4Hx78b27SFoCp32c5PK7fcEWrKuFCEgm0mMDq/s320/2012-06-05+08.16.59.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Lots of vendors were nice enough to hand out tote bags. I filled two with books almost immediately. Quirk Books reps wandered the floor, and if they saw you with their bag, they took your photo to hang in their booth, and gave you a prize. (Notice I am not holding up my bag - it's because I wouldn't set down the cookie Emma Straub gave me.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pdMko3v7XKyIDgbCP67ZzXPfvSRHNm2qPDkIfjNlISYtx0CZ0mduYBSnmY0Z0KQDWOoxr_nkKN8-M_HPbgYuznwZ9wvISKR6uNdLaUHhFH5yXKojh4_tP1PfPsgdb6mR3Rx-26ynsqRy/s1600/2012-06-06+16.23.42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pdMko3v7XKyIDgbCP67ZzXPfvSRHNm2qPDkIfjNlISYtx0CZ0mduYBSnmY0Z0KQDWOoxr_nkKN8-M_HPbgYuznwZ9wvISKR6uNdLaUHhFH5yXKojh4_tP1PfPsgdb6mR3Rx-26ynsqRy/s320/2012-06-06+16.23.42.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is my new favorite title.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F3ANXKwWyuKLijxhXM2B9GvkKLUZeChbtk7VbcxfEiVQDYBwvCb5JqibaKPq0kqdaBAcaNXqJNlZgZNReX55inUChKM7Y66IeP2OJX2prmBRdK0NYOS5jx8i2kSVa5IWNlInq2SrDaMy/s1600/2012-06-05+12.19.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F3ANXKwWyuKLijxhXM2B9GvkKLUZeChbtk7VbcxfEiVQDYBwvCb5JqibaKPq0kqdaBAcaNXqJNlZgZNReX55inUChKM7Y66IeP2OJX2prmBRdK0NYOS5jx8i2kSVa5IWNlInq2SrDaMy/s320/2012-06-05+12.19.22.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of the best things about BEA was getting to meet all my Book Riot cohorts! It was an amazing evening. They are all really awesome. We went to dinner at The Half King, where I fell a little in love with the cute tatted waitress who called me Momma. Rachel ordered the fried baby spaghetti monsters.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZzcCImCBUxNrZcKJ0E069RYsLVE1noTwAfVltPePIvi1-lgdh4BxHPzsIa28Zbb6DLA7SY_TEORNBr2lZOQA6_-2WNatERNyefRq4O6yEVRVvGxODjjxi09zUH3fR5HLmF6GnQ_4Sk-o/s1600/2012-06-05+18.17.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZzcCImCBUxNrZcKJ0E069RYsLVE1noTwAfVltPePIvi1-lgdh4BxHPzsIa28Zbb6DLA7SY_TEORNBr2lZOQA6_-2WNatERNyefRq4O6yEVRVvGxODjjxi09zUH3fR5HLmF6GnQ_4Sk-o/s320/2012-06-05+18.17.58.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I stayed with Stephanie most of the week. This was my roommate, Dmitri. He didn't snore, but he did talk a lot. And drool on my pillow.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxQbIhyphenhyphenoqC4zCJ3-as3o_qJnvU0MiBY9pCW9SbMx740GMvCpmzzBIzm-odbb2d0zj2A-kyEUlUpfnwl3IA0fzMPvwc79CyVFl2m4Wabmc2wjo0GtMOaPFg_8yB-X17S1J4cDmem-Vi-rC/s1600/2012-06-05+20.46.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxQbIhyphenhyphenoqC4zCJ3-as3o_qJnvU0MiBY9pCW9SbMx740GMvCpmzzBIzm-odbb2d0zj2A-kyEUlUpfnwl3IA0fzMPvwc79CyVFl2m4Wabmc2wjo0GtMOaPFg_8yB-X17S1J4cDmem-Vi-rC/s320/2012-06-05+20.46.53.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The next day, I hauled ass to the Javits to make sure I got a place in line for this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR93spFQ-64bbnTbc1iiyJk2OoAoiNx1icKlSea4uGk6aCywY6E3MI0dmp8pbaMZSYWAJL5O7BFPk-xiQb8FEZc_ZtfzgGYst6wZ8WKCXc7NoUDMcVo8pEYB4R0qrokUhx-kgDYKw9JNBH/s1600/2012-06-06+11.48.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR93spFQ-64bbnTbc1iiyJk2OoAoiNx1icKlSea4uGk6aCywY6E3MI0dmp8pbaMZSYWAJL5O7BFPk-xiQb8FEZc_ZtfzgGYst6wZ8WKCXc7NoUDMcVo8pEYB4R0qrokUhx-kgDYKw9JNBH/s320/2012-06-06+11.48.43.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Yes, this happened. Neil Young sat down with Patti Smith and had a conversation about music and writing and it was one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced. They were brilliant and funny. I cried a little. What? Shut up.</div>
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I got to spend another dinner with Book Riot cohorts. We sat outside, where the trees dropped annoying little flowers on our meals and in our hair the whole time. I had to pick Rebs clean like a monkey. She and I write the Well-Readheads column together. Here we are enjoying beverages: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuOxSIiMrbG1CpN_A3dAa8cubtwJBKKNAvd4UY0hskYrNiFLM2Sg560PWOpNxy6tr7tBgt8tBkpyZ2A0xIGLvFMnqjbBReepJuuNEu8ofqjU4j5KA7h79unxfKuJSgPDAsXOjHKYSL1OO/s1600/IMAG0359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuOxSIiMrbG1CpN_A3dAa8cubtwJBKKNAvd4UY0hskYrNiFLM2Sg560PWOpNxy6tr7tBgt8tBkpyZ2A0xIGLvFMnqjbBReepJuuNEu8ofqjU4j5KA7h79unxfKuJSgPDAsXOjHKYSL1OO/s320/IMAG0359.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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BEA is like summer camp for book people! I got to see so many of my friends. I went to Andrew Shaffer's signing for his new book, "Fifty Shames of Earl Grey." I'm pretty sure the hand sign we're making in this picture means "We miss you, Jerry." </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRAkINePDqazd2rF0jRAsXPBpgPGVJZgMRY9dtnbsVNUjY55x7zfNV_X9o01JgtAJIYHchqLpA5xDycwixxaWyaVd6oHxxrZfFXLfwmMGftMKC4_NuIeF2P1JAqF2V_CSnrQi8hDoXYFoE/s1600/2012-06-06+16.06.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRAkINePDqazd2rF0jRAsXPBpgPGVJZgMRY9dtnbsVNUjY55x7zfNV_X9o01JgtAJIYHchqLpA5xDycwixxaWyaVd6oHxxrZfFXLfwmMGftMKC4_NuIeF2P1JAqF2V_CSnrQi8hDoXYFoE/s320/2012-06-06+16.06.38.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I also saw this book, and I was disappointed that they didn't have any ARCs to give away, because I have a friend who I think would really like it:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1Y4mBjXX9-X93PIpuXXMy4pA7pg6ByXSVCQTwqROxiapTL_yj1M1Fbk3_fVebENJNf9I1g1z5Q0NIEZHvPxNEksOUJaJrVDhYQITaP9XZRNpoTU6R40Btx7TRS6SMZnoODMNdT0KPz1r/s1600/2012-06-05+12.06.15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid1Y4mBjXX9-X93PIpuXXMy4pA7pg6ByXSVCQTwqROxiapTL_yj1M1Fbk3_fVebENJNf9I1g1z5Q0NIEZHvPxNEksOUJaJrVDhYQITaP9XZRNpoTU6R40Btx7TRS6SMZnoODMNdT0KPz1r/s320/2012-06-05+12.06.15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Really. It would have been for a friend.</div>
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I spent the last day of BEA like all the other days - filling my arms up with books, and visiting with friends. And I had a meeting next to the Brooklyn Bridge. THAT was impressive. And there was ice cream! All meetings should include ice cream.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF426oAzHvb4bSZQbAhKnLglrgOlKylDpCh37TyWEpm8-asyKpjSdPneaUThjrIJpAp5PqEJw1yuUOTBCzioF1SK9HwXghuX36WW8QEtN1mZWxjTV7rKzN8jvZjOia27FpiiHOjeMMoRSZ/s1600/2012-06-07+17.22.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF426oAzHvb4bSZQbAhKnLglrgOlKylDpCh37TyWEpm8-asyKpjSdPneaUThjrIJpAp5PqEJw1yuUOTBCzioF1SK9HwXghuX36WW8QEtN1mZWxjTV7rKzN8jvZjOia27FpiiHOjeMMoRSZ/s320/2012-06-07+17.22.03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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On my last day there, I insisted on revisiting the ricotta pancakes before I left. Seriously. I can't get over them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi92DN8hnEa5OU0h2D8Ci4vvSR1EwombVBGbs0sBRT6mtL8jA1Gvs3cQXxspW0wk3PbhqupbzBNRAonUg02C0pPLhC23B9-7R3ared1_TTQ4mAUMT4dhxlrSkw1T4CdsA2iDXcvqprE-ctj/s1600/2012-06-08+11.14.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi92DN8hnEa5OU0h2D8Ci4vvSR1EwombVBGbs0sBRT6mtL8jA1Gvs3cQXxspW0wk3PbhqupbzBNRAonUg02C0pPLhC23B9-7R3ared1_TTQ4mAUMT4dhxlrSkw1T4CdsA2iDXcvqprE-ctj/s320/2012-06-08+11.14.10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thank you to everyone who helped this country mouse find her way around the big city. I had the best time this year! Especially since last year, my front tooth got knocked out. (It's a long story - let's just say there were ninja werewolves and I was outnumbered.)</div>
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Here's my haul from my trip. The bag of books I brought home weighed 42 lbs.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTEPIBgIOgntHGBbu3m5lxfkqED88uOZZ-efXhyphenhyphenlsFTVGdVDI_coOolfX95BBy2Iz9GoS4pVnZ3Gfg39ueG9adEK6v_wW3l8fI4G85WO7tjKoTjPj_3zKhNv0mqrCJIULTOu2GSXozz1f/s1600/2012-06-10+21.10.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTEPIBgIOgntHGBbu3m5lxfkqED88uOZZ-efXhyphenhyphenlsFTVGdVDI_coOolfX95BBy2Iz9GoS4pVnZ3Gfg39ueG9adEK6v_wW3l8fI4G85WO7tjKoTjPj_3zKhNv0mqrCJIULTOu2GSXozz1f/s320/2012-06-10+21.10.00.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here are Millay and Steinbeck jumping for joy upon my return:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOnTi3ZcMSniGkRW2Z2C5oYscMSTiB8uGuZGldDKlgAQb0AP36354YvJ1sYZS3jWjtt2UEQfh2sKLE8ze0R0oxb5LTPDZVx-vj5bgsLRQhh7DhQshnW2RDOTvs4QBc690L0Fz8GHcq-bs/s1600/2012-06-09+21.34.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOnTi3ZcMSniGkRW2Z2C5oYscMSTiB8uGuZGldDKlgAQb0AP36354YvJ1sYZS3jWjtt2UEQfh2sKLE8ze0R0oxb5LTPDZVx-vj5bgsLRQhh7DhQshnW2RDOTvs4QBc690L0Fz8GHcq-bs/s320/2012-06-09+21.34.40.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Despite the fantastic time I had in NYC, it's like what Dorothy (that witch-squishing, red-shoed, self-centered bitch) said: There's no place like home. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHJm8G6Xr2LYTZoyKtVlGLb7RlV6tFqa3Nw1V2fo49vA0UTqFi2gKCaDRbXnXQASsgab__dNQT5fRh8uNGLxmi4Fdtb4PaVn0n1EkIsUCzZqsXc1d2WsZiJftI8fCQtWmQJLtUDbUk_2B/s1600/2012-06-10+20.51.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHJm8G6Xr2LYTZoyKtVlGLb7RlV6tFqa3Nw1V2fo49vA0UTqFi2gKCaDRbXnXQASsgab__dNQT5fRh8uNGLxmi4Fdtb4PaVn0n1EkIsUCzZqsXc1d2WsZiJftI8fCQtWmQJLtUDbUk_2B/s320/2012-06-10+20.51.25.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-74553315929938120122012-03-09T11:08:00.003-05:002012-03-09T11:11:56.225-05:00And yeah, I know he's a pretty good read<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbv__WmjcdKcneLc6nWYuzzPsE4HRrDEUEGdNoAl-cqCnRav2jsxjP0vwqXtrtwIY9L2QJ3lCrQxkBT0BYi1uYiH77K3hBDtIBMPb6ugJJ65ftBrwVOR-ldj6gF6D8YFA2cUAH_tEJzAZ7/s1600/bukowski2.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbv__WmjcdKcneLc6nWYuzzPsE4HRrDEUEGdNoAl-cqCnRav2jsxjP0vwqXtrtwIY9L2QJ3lCrQxkBT0BYi1uYiH77K3hBDtIBMPb6ugJJ65ftBrwVOR-ldj6gF6D8YFA2cUAH_tEJzAZ7/s320/bukowski2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717930200894302802" /></a><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center; "><span ><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span ><u><div><span >“there is a place in the heart that </span></div><div><span >will never be filled </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >a space </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >and even during the </span></div><div><span >best moments </span></div><div><span >and </span></div><div><span >the greatest times </span></div><div><span >times </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >we will know it </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >we will know it </span></div><div><span >more than </span></div><div><span >ever </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >there is a place in the heart that </span></div><div><span >will never be filled </span></div><div><span >and </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >we will wait </span></div><div><span >and </span></div><div><span >wait </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >in that space.” </span></div><div><span ><br /></span></div><div><span >- Charles Bukowski, August 16, 1920 - March 9, 1994</span></div></u></span><br /></div>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-89127087081219727852012-02-06T09:17:00.008-05:002012-02-06T10:07:18.652-05:00Ain't No Houellebecq Girl<div><span>Since I'm not really a football fan, I decided to start the #SuperBookBowl hashtag on Twitter last night. Soon, people were contributing awesome tweets of their own - it was so much fun! Seriously - one of my biggest nerdpurrs ever.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>Here's my commentary:</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>- Garcia Marquez just sacked Vargas Llosa!</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>- Philip Roth keeps patting everyone on the ass.</span></div><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span>- James Patterson runs one yard, then stops. Runs one yard, then stops...</span></div><br /><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Remember a few years ago, when Norman Mailer stabbed a ref with a steak knife?</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Shocked to hear that Beverly Cleary will not be in tonight's game, after testing positive for steroids. </span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Man, George R. R. Martin takes a really long time before he throws the ball.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Harper Lee has taken herself out of the game!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Murakami throws the ball..........Incomplete!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- The Authors call a time out - Houellebecq is missing. Wait, hold on - they have located him. He was at the beer cart.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Ohhhhhhh! Joyce Carol Oates has a wardrobe malfunction during the halftime show!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Jonathan Franzen has been ejected from the game after arguing with the ref, Michiko Kakutani.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- There's Coach Jennifer Egan - her players tell us that she illustrates the plays of the game for them in Power Point.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- I tell ya, The Authors could not have better cheerleaders than the Indie Booksellers. They are SPECTACULAR.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Time out - @Shteyngart has let a dachsund out on the field.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Brrrr! Eugenides must have chosen the uniforms - those vests look cold!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Another time out - streaker on the field. Is that...wait...yep - it's Edith Pearlman.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Hold everything! Turns out, J.K. Rowling has actually been playing for the other team THE WHOLE GAME!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Milan Kundera is leaving the field injured - looks like a pulled groin.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- The entire opposing team has piled on top of Zadie Smith!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Still too early to call the game, but Joan Didion has already started looting.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Neal Stephenson runs over 1000 yards for a touchdown!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- That's Jonathan Safran Foer sitting in the stands, holding the sign protesting the use of pig's skin.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Q.R. Markham steals the ball from Robert Ludlum!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- And Tom Clancy scores a touchdown with his butt!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- THE AUTHORS WIN THE GAME!!!</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- Lauren Myracle has been named MVP of the #SuperBookBowl! No, wait...Nope - they're awarding MVP to Franny Billingsley instead.</span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">- #SuperBookBowl fans out in the streets, setting off fireworks and smashing e-readers.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 18px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-67271450284969689702011-12-25T14:16:00.005-05:002011-12-26T12:10:41.511-05:00Twas the Night Before Christmas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIP8P5h0h55XOkFobWh4kQ3X8FEidgQhp2dnBHDhil3qXnz4Y6hbPz6uJUfrkBr1x09Vz6cDdOlXtDgT8nmJ1Ixwv_EvE1LXSbE_NJD977nddROzhV-PNTWIfsh9JZVBRT1wREo0uc2rZZ/s1600/394972_326779660673393_100000240861369_1296511_17969646_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIP8P5h0h55XOkFobWh4kQ3X8FEidgQhp2dnBHDhil3qXnz4Y6hbPz6uJUfrkBr1x09Vz6cDdOlXtDgT8nmJ1Ixwv_EvE1LXSbE_NJD977nddROzhV-PNTWIfsh9JZVBRT1wREo0uc2rZZ/s320/394972_326779660673393_100000240861369_1296511_17969646_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690151940021924178" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto; ">Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house</span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The felines were chasing a toy catnip mouse.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The stalking began in the hall and from there</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">They managed to corner it under a chair.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I attempted to nestle all snug in my bed</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">But the kitties decided to dance on my head.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">An idea it hit me, it came like a clap</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">And I sent them off chasing a Poland Springs cap.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Away down the hall I flew like a witch</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I entered the kitchen and groped for the switch.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The moon on the breast of the white kitchen tile</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Gave the luster of mid-day to the cats' chew toy pile.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">When what to my wondering eyes did I see?</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The remains of my poster of Angelina Jolie.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Without giving much thought or having to check</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I knew in a moment it must be Steinbeck.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">More rapid than eagles, his paws were such trouble</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Adept at turning possessions into piles of rubble.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">"You bastard! You monster! You rotten little cat!</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I'll skin you alive and make you into a hat!"</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">To the top of the fridge! To the top of the desk!</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The kitties took flight, away from the mess.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">So out to the bedroom the felines they flew</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">"I'll get you, Millay, and your little son, too."</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the hall,</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The batting and pawing of each toy cat ball.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">As I raged in my head, and was turning around,</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Down the hallway the fur-beasts then came with a bound.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">They were dressed all in fur, from their heads to their feet,</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">And they yelled out they still needed something to eat.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">But a bowl full of food still sat on the floor</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">As I'd fed the two monsters a mere hour before.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Their eyes - they were wild! Their tails, how they twitched!</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">As they rubbed on my ankles and they moaned and they bitched.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Millay's droll little mouth was open like Jaws</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">And Steinbeck kept batting my knees with his paws.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">They wouldn't listen as I explained I'd fed them before</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Continuing to howl and to writhe on the floor.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">So I got out the Friskies, and I got out the cup,</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">And gave them more food so they'd shut the fuck up.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Steinbeck mewed not a sound, but went straight to work</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">At filling his belly - the little fur-jerk.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Millay sniffed at the bowl, then with nose in the air, </div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Pretended no interest in what she found there.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">"Eat the damn food, you rotten little cow!</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I hope that you're happy - I'm wide awake now."</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">The clock, it read four - I thought I would weep.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I turned toward the bedroom, hoping for sleep.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">"Merry Christmas, you monsters, with your cold little hearts.</div><div style="text-align: center;font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I'm taking a nap - then I'll sell you for parts."</div><div style="font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-auto; font-size: small; "><div style="text-align: center;">And I heard them exclaim as the two of them fled,</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Merry Christmas, dear human - your gift's under the bed."</div></div><br /></div>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-91076310208872818012011-10-26T10:47:00.005-04:002011-10-26T11:04:05.155-04:00Alone in My House<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Alone in my house,<div>I am as talented as Regina Spektor</div><div>(but my piano is at the cleaners.)</div><div>I can write like Virginia Woolf</div><div>(but my dress has no pockets for stones.)</div><div>I am as witty as Dorothy Parker</div><div>(but I don't really care for gin.)</div><div>I am as alluring as Cleopatra</div><div>(but my asp is in my other pants.)</div><div>Alone in my house,</div><div>I am Meryl Streep</div><div>I am The Marquise de Merteuil</div><div>I am Shirley Jackson</div><div>I am Marie Currie.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am not feeling like myself today</div><div>(but maybe I am you.)</div></span>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-17592975947627485282011-10-22T00:14:00.002-04:002011-10-22T00:17:29.211-04:00I Am Here.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">I am here. You do not realize it, but I am. High above you, I am here. I can smell the smoke from your cigarettes, the exhaust from your cars. I can see you walking, alone, in pairs, in groups. I can hear you, your drunken celebrations, your cell phone conversations, your life's disappointments. I can hear your fights, your hearts breaking on the street, words you can't take back. I can hear your naked anguish, your pleas. I am here. Life is hard, but I am here. And I just want to tell you: Shut the fuck up - I'm trying to read.</span>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-36295457445649845822011-10-21T10:55:00.004-04:002011-10-21T11:00:01.002-04:00A Curse on Book Thieves<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><p><span class="Apple-style-span">"For him that stealeth, or borroweth and returneth not,</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">this book from its owner, let it change into a serpent in</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">his hand and rend him.</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">Let him be struck with palsy, and all his members blasted.</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">Let him languish in pain, crying aloud for mercy, and let </span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">there be no surcease to this agony till he sing dissolution.</span></p><p></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">Let bookworms gnaw his entrails...and when at last he</span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span">goeth to his last punishment, let the flames of hell consume</span></p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><p><span class="Apple-style-span">him for ever." </span></p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><b>-Curse on book thieves, from the monestary of San Pedro, Barcelona, Spain</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span"><p style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); "><b><br /></b></p></span></span>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962009397793446804.post-36705355171800162052011-10-21T10:39:00.003-04:002011-10-21T10:47:12.736-04:00The 'Bib' in 'Bibliomaniac'<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ToGZe3jWiSluo-91-KsrDaxIIrlYbarf6ognN2696wRmnQL1A41uT_N4M20k_S3SO2c2vUIZJJQAvyN8N7DyFTXmXqutxs1z8m20ik7RvNk_MVBPdRcIZ3TL5G2BKPmVZ7fGyVFg-L0f/s1600/1921708-fork-and-knife-with-book-education-metaphor.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ToGZe3jWiSluo-91-KsrDaxIIrlYbarf6ognN2696wRmnQL1A41uT_N4M20k_S3SO2c2vUIZJJQAvyN8N7DyFTXmXqutxs1z8m20ik7RvNk_MVBPdRcIZ3TL5G2BKPmVZ7fGyVFg-L0f/s320/1921708-fork-and-knife-with-book-education-metaphor.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665956791680403554" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>*editor's note - This is a post from my old blog, "Red, White and Esoteric." It was originally posted February 22, 2007.</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><br /></i></span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', verdana, arial, sans-serif; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); " ><p>Most of you have met, or know of my cat, Bella. Bella is my favorite thing in the whole world. She is gray, tailless and quite fat. She is also vicious, violent and unrepentant. It would take weeks of therapy to even begin to touch on why on Earth I worship her so. Aside from Bella, my very favorite things are books. Books, unlike Bella, let me pick them up, carry them around, pet them lovingly and, in some cases, break their spines, all without complaint. I pride myself on how much I read. I was a secretly thrilled the other night at dinner as I listened to Significant Dave tell someone I don't just read books, I consume them. And it got me to thinking: what if I did really consume one?</p><p>I didn't eat a whole book of course. I thought about it, got the mental image of me sitting down at the table, fork and knife in either hand, napkin tucked in to my shirt, book on a plate. Unless you eat a paperback, I can only imagine the cover is tough to chew. And books have no nutritional value. I didn't think eating a whole book could be good for my digestive system. The term 'book binding' would take on a whole other meaning, I'm guessing. But a page, where's the harm in that? I've eaten paper before. Not recently, but I've done it. Once, in high school, I guilted my mother into buying me an expensive Georgetown Hoyas sweatshirt. She told me she wasn't sure she was going to let me keep it, so to hold onto the receipt. Of course, as soon as she turned around to leave the store, I swallowed it. Then there were those little pieces of Trident gum they said you could chew with the wrapper on. So my friends and I did, because we were cool and tough. And weird, apparently. Who chooses the "eat paper" option?</p><p>So, a page. The question was, what page? Not one from a book I didn't like. I could imagine it making it taste worse. Not an important page, from the body. That would ruin the book. I settled on the title page from a copy of <b>Light House</b> by William Monahan. I own two copies, because its easily the funniest book I've read. I have one copy for myself and one I lend out to a very lucky few. Next, how to eat it? There's very little preparation necessary. You don't have to peel it, slice it or bake it. I thought cramming the whole thing in my mouth would be like eating a giant spit ball, so I ripped it up into little one-inch pieces. The good thing about my apartment is that while I have no actual sustenance, I do have lots of condiments. I ate a couple of pieces dry, wadding them up into little balls, then I tried a couple dipped in ketchup and a couple dipped in maple syrup. They didn't help with the eating, though, they just hid the cardboard flavor a bit. I finished the rest by slugging them down with Diet Coke. There. I ate a piece of a book, actually consumed it. I'm proud. And still...weird.</p></span></div></div>Miss Libertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12345683314579493451noreply@blogger.com0