Sunday, September 30, 2007

No Nuit Blanche

Here is a photo of Stuart and I experiencing our urban landscape. Alas, we did not get to Nuit Blanche. On the way home from a brilliant night at Rebecca Rosenblum's (with such good company as Chapati Kid), I shared public transportation with people going to Nuit Blanche, and their company made me want to go home to read. I'm glad I did.

And now we've just arrived home from The Word on the Street, which was a brilliant afternoon. I should have paid more attention to the scheduling though, instead of showing up blind, as I'm sure there was a lot of good programming I missed. Such as Elizabeth Hay, whose novel I finished Friday night and was the best book I've read this year. I could have heard her read! She could have signed book! I lined up at the author's signing tent anyway, and told her how much I'd enjoyed her book. Managing not to be too much of a blathering idiot, which is sweet relief. Afterwards I also met the lovely Kim Jernigan of The New Quarterly, which was exciting. And finally to the main event, as Patricia Storms presented and read from her new book 13 Ghosts of Halloween. It was delightful. She was absolutely entertaining, the presentation was fabulous, we got hear her sing!, and after she signed my book. Plus I got to meet her, which was nice. I am an ever-adoring fan.

So a good day, in daylight. I freaked out though, about the proximity of The Vic Book Sale to The Word on the Street Crowd, and wondered if they'd leave anything for the rest of us tomorrow. And then I came to the conclusion, all on my own, that even if they didn't, I have eight billions books of my own still to read, some of which I bought at the book sale last year, and a whole host of others on reserve at the library. Which I thought was very mature, and I deserved a pat on the back for. Whenever I refrain from childishness, I always feel this proud.

Today I picked up The Beatles Blue Album, which made me fall in love with them years ago, and I want to again. Now reading Alice I Think by Susan Juby, which is out in its own grown-up edition, and, really, it positively should be.