The Two Sheep

One morning two sheep were deciding where to go to graze grass.

“I think we should go up the mountain,” said the first sheep. “Not many other animals go there to graze, so there should be enough to eat. Besides, the view is very pretty.”

The second sheep said, “No, let’s go down near the river. The grass is very sweet and plentiful there, and we’ll be shaded from the sun and wind.”

“I don’t like that idea,” said the first.

“But I don’t like yours either,” said the second.

“Well then, let’s compromise. We can go to the broad plain that lies between the mountains and the river. It should have enough grass to eat, and the weather should be fine for both of us.”

“Agreed,” said the second sheep.

And as they set off down the road to the broad plain, they were both attacked and eaten by lions.

Moral: Compromise equals death

If you’re curious about a little of my background and writing process, you can check out the nice interview with me on a new site called Creative-Writing-Help.com. Thanks to Tracey Tressa for the nice write-up.

Here’s a creative writing exercise for you after you read the interview:

What sort of undersea creature does my pale bald head remind you of? What would you do if it confronted you while on vacation? Would it be dangerous? How do you think it could be killed?

For all you eager kinkers out there, here is the latest podcast from Honk Honk, My Darling, featuring an appearance by my darling daughter as a sassy street urchin. Hope you enjoy.

If you DO enjoy, try leaving a comment in the iTunes store, because that will give it a little more momentum in their rankings.

And tell your friends, leave a review on Amazon, and join the “Honk Honk, My Darling” Facebook page. All these things add up. You want the circus to come back again next year, don’t you?

One of the best blogs out there for e-publishing is The Book Designer, where Joel Friedlander dispenses advice on making self-published and indie-published work look as good as it can. So I was excited when I read that he had a monthly contest for book covers. Every book has a cover, but so many of the e-books I’ve seen look, imho, completely amateurish, with poor font choices, muddled or cliche design, cockeyed proportions between elements, and empty space you could drive a donkey cart through. A lot of them wouldn’t have worked for a Ladies League Cookbook.

But putting those impressions into words is beyond me. I thought hearing from a professional like Joel about both my own cover and those of other e-books would be very educational.

And hey, frankly I thought we might win the contest. But alas, not this time. Joel had mostly positive things to say about the cover, designed by Airan Wright.

This cover has some of the most sophisticated typography of all the covers this month, and professional-quality illustration. What held it back, in my view, was the difficulty making out what exactly the illustration is, and what meaning it has. Also, having so many strong elements on one cover has led to a bit of graphic confusion.

Well, he’s probably right about the graphic confusion. We’ve talked a little bit about changing the cover in the future, taking out the starburst at the trapeze, and inserting a hand and forearm. But it’s pretty nice to hear that we have “the most sophisticated typography” of the month. I know what I like, and I liked Airan’s work right away. It’s grabby, and it’s going to work for other books in the series.

Among all the choices a self-publisher must make, one of the most important is what to do yourself and what to hire out. This requires deciding what you’re good at, and frankly that can be difficult. But you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. A strong cover is important, and will be increasingly crucial as more color tablets enter the market and people use them to browse for their next read. I learned a long time ago that while I may have an EYE for design, that doesn’t mean I can actually DESIGN something that will attract other people.

Friedlander’s website, and especially the contest, is something every self-publisher should check frequently. You can’t judge a book by its cover, except most of the time.

As you fans know, this has been a helluva week for postseason baseball. I’ve had the obligation (yes, this is what I tell my wife) to watch my hometown team as it struggles mightily against the scary Texas Rangers. How many one run and two run victories can either team survive? There have been no laffers, no routs, nothing that would make you turn the game off early.

And as usual with the postseason, the expected heroes (Verlander, Cabrera, Hamilton) have not been nearly as productive as the also-rans (Nelson Cruz, Delmon Young). Why this happens every postseason is worthy of someone’s research. Maybe the heroes are too exhausted, or too distractible from all their interviews, or put too much pressure on themselves to single-handedly carry the team. Whatever it is, it’s what makes October baseball so awesome.

And it’s been a great week for limericks at Bardball.com. Earlier in the week, I relaxed the rule of only one post per day, and the limericks have been plentiful, in both posts and comments. And shame on us, we haven’t been able to give any space to poems on the Brewers-Cardinals series (well, I do have one lim on the Cardinals, but because it came from a Cubs fan, it’s really nasty). Below is a sample of one of our better ones, by Hilary Barta, who also runs the site LimerWrecks. Come on over and check it all out before the World Series. That’s gonna be a yawner, I tell ya.

That hit over Beltre was crazy
A bit of the old upsy-daisy
The Rangers were trounced
when Detroit’s way it bounced,
still kicking like Cameron Swayze.

Attention all kinkers! The latest podcast of “Honk Honk, My Darling” is now up and available for listening! Death continues to follow Rex Koko like a yappy little dog as he follows the trail of Boots Carlozo to the trailer of her latest bunkmate, Flying Fleming! Brought to you by Robillard’s Shrimp Sticks, in handy stick form!

(Sorry this one took so long, but there were a lot of characters, sound effects and background sounds to tinker with and get right. Ever since my brother told me to get serious about the SFX, I’ve been getting more and more particular about how I put these together. Hope you agree!)

Download from this link or click on the embed below:

(Sorry the embed looks like a cheap piece of op art. It looked fine when I uploaded it. I’ve had continuing problems with the artwork when I try and manipulate it on Libsyn.)

I’ve always told readers of Politically Correct Bedtime Stories to send me their corrections of mistakes I’ve made in my writing, of unwitting sexism, racism, classism, antipolyamorism, or any other bias that might offend any reader or non-reader. I’m only human, after all, though that’s a pretty flimsy excuse. Here’s my latest mea culpa (sorry for the pro-western classicism), a big error brought to my attention by new fan Sherry Spence:

Since you encouraged suggestions in the event of “any bias as yet unnamed” in your Introduction, I feel encouraged to point out the unnamed bias in your use – in that very sentence – of the word, “rectification.” This reference to the right hand being the one that corrects is a direct affront to my left-handed husband and left-handed grand-daughter. I am sure that you can right this sinistral wrong with even-handed treatment and your usual verbal dexterity in the next printing of your righteous tome.

Guilty guilty guilty. Right doesn’t make might, not without what’s left.

One of the best and most idiosyncratic reading series in Chicago is “Reading Under the Influence”, which takes place monthly at Sheffield’s Bar. Earlier this month I read a steamy passage of Rex Koko being molested by the formerly reserved wife of a senator, from the yet-to-be-released mystery The Wet Nose of Danger. It went over well, as far as clown sex in public goes, and if you look at some of the other pictures, you can see Amy Guth from the Tribune daydreaming about a romp in the bushes with a healthy joey.

Everybody’s got a fantasy, right?

The rest of the pictures are here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/raylumpp/sets/72157627628985235/

Like in anything else, there have been some ups and downs in my writing career, but one of the luckiest breaks I’ve had has been to have Ernest Hecht as the publisher of PC Bedtime Stories in the United Kingdom. He’s managed to keep me in print for more than 15 years in Britain (along with getting my name in the press once in a while, to keep interest up), with smaller and better thought-out press runs than was the case in the US market. Contrast this with the fact that the US edition of PC Bedtime Stories has been out of print since 1997, two years after selling 2 million copies, and you’ll understand the stark differences between the markets. It’s been so much more fun to have a real person as my publisher, instead of the employee of a large media conglomerate.

Ernest also brought my first book to the attention of Grasset, my French publisher, and Goldmann, my German publisher (and possibly a couple others I’ve forgotten). He earned no profit from this, except in keeping relationships alive and happy. At the helm of Souvenir Press (which he started at age 18 with a special edition of stories and stats for football fans), he’s the last of an old breed of publishers who are hands on with just about everything his company prints. “A publisher’s main duty to his writers,” he’s said many times, “is to stay in business.”

So imagine my joy and pride in the fact that Ernest is publishing a 15th anniversary edition of PC Bedtime Stories AND has put it on the cover of his latest catalog. Those ugly caricatures of Grandma and the Woodcutter have never looked so good.

For a little extra sizzle in this edition, Ernest asked me if I had any other PC stories cluttering up the office that could be included. I looked around and found some things, but none of them truly fit the bill. So I sat down one morning last spring and decided to have a whack at the story that could be made out of what was only a punchline title, “The Duckling That Was Judged On Its Personal Merits and Not On Its Physical Appearance.” To my surprise (or shock?), the words just flew onto the page. After a couple of rewrites, I sent it to Ernest, who was very happy with the result. So that story is included in this British edition, as well as in my e-book edition available in America and Germany.

There is even talk about this hardback edition being distributed again in the United States, which is very exciting news, even if Ernest inserted extra U’s in “color” and “odor”.

Years ago, when the book first came out in Britain, Ernest flew me and my wife over to London to do some media. It was a trip we will never forget. He had me running around a lot, but it was terrific fun. Got to be interviewed by Allan Bennett, visited the HQ of BBC Radio at Bush House, met Walter Mosley at a studio. Ernest put us up in the company flat, which hadn’t been decorated in a while (rotary phone, blue shag carpeting, plumbing that only allowed hot water to make it to the tub if you sat down and used the shower as a handle), but it was a terrific treat for us. Even better was when he took us out to dinner at his favorite London restaurant, the White Castle (I know, we Yanks laughed about it too), and told us stories about his travels, his adventures as a producer on the West End, and his beloved football team, Arsenal.

So my ever-lasting gratitude goes out to Ernest, who took a chance on importing a humor book from America and managed to keep it alive and kicking for longer than anyone anticipated. To his instincts, his savvy, and his generous love of life, I raise my glass.

Well, we’re back in the City of the Big Shoulder Pads, and I think the whole brood is finally getting back in fighting shape. I can now sleep a little past seven, ignoring the workers cutting up the street outside our window for almost 10 minutes. I also curse a little bit less driving around town, although that might have to do with the kids being in the car. And the car windows being open.

Fall is the time when I make lots and lots of resolutions that probably won’t get accomplished. (First got this idea from the Tribune’s Eric Zorn, and it is a much better notion than waiting until January, with its short, cold days and hibernating lethargy.) Of course, there are more demands on my time now, too, but during the day, I’ve got about 7 hours of straight time, which I hope I can put to awesome use.

One resolution is to get out to more readings and performances this fall. Writing is incredibly solitary, but there’s no need to make the problem worse. Any night of the week in Chicago, there’s a good reading series happening somewhere. so I’m going to stick my nose out, meet a few people, and maybe sign up to read, if the hosts will have me.

So far I’ve been able to read at two gatherings. The first was the venerable Uptown Poetry Slam, run every Sunday by my old friend Marc Smith. He found out I had a new ebook to publicize, and his first instinct was to give me a buzz and offer some stage time to read. I hadn’t read there in a couple years. The Green Mill Lounge is one of the most special places in Chicago, a watering hole and musical oasis that could exist in no other place. It looks great, feels cozy, and SOUNDS unlike anyplace else in the whole city. Mark let me read for quite a while, so I brought out the clown bar fight from Chapter 5 of “Honk Honk, My Darling”, and followed it with the steamy encounter between Rex and a certain senator’s wife in the yet-to-be-published thriller, “The Wet Nose of Danger.” I also read for the first time in North America, the newest PC Bedtime Story, now available in the British edition and e-book edition, “The Duckling That Was Judged On Its Personal Merits and Not on Its Physical Appearance.”

What a jolly and engaging stage presence I am !!

Reactions were weird, but I should be used to that by now. Cackle here, laugh over there, but I didn’t have them at my mercy as much as I’d like. I’m also a little rusty, so I can’t pull the audience along like I used to. Will have to brush up on my chops.

Then last week I got to participate in Reading Under the Influence (RUI), which is run monthly by the wonderful Julia Borcherts out of Sheffield’s Bar. This was a totally different kind of reading than what I was used to: Everyone standing up, about four feet from the reader, all drinking, many joining in and heckling. It wasn’t an aggressive audience, but they sure were involved with me and the other readers. I also stumped most of them with my trivia questions about the end of the world and Nostradamus and the Book of Revelation. But most importantly, I met some cool people and heard some good writers, especially Geoff Hyatt, whose new book just came out. I gave away a lot of coupons for free copies of “Honk Honk, My Darling,” but only a few of them have been turned in yet.

And today I sat down with the notion that I was going to write 1000 words. For me, this is like running a marathon. I don’t think I’ve written that much in one sitting in years. And what do you know, I beat it! 1458 words! It felt great! And no one at Facebook even noticed I was missing.

I haven’t posted my poems from Bardball in the past couple weeks, but for those who don’t feel like going over there, I thought I’d bring one over here.

Today’s was inspired by last week’s passing of manager Dick Williams, an old=school hardass who achieved some marvelous things with his players (and, though I couldn’t manage to work it into the poem, quit the Oakland A’s after two pennants and a World Series because he couldn’t stand working for owner Charlie Finley). RIP, Dick.

When Oakland’s Swingin’ A’s were swingin’,
A hard-playing, mustachioed team–
Williams quit after winning two titles.
The skipper never changed or mellowed
In Expos white or Padres yellow.
Old-school grit, speed and defense vital.
Angels in heaven might hear him scream,
“You with the harp! You call that singin’?”

This week Number One Son has been on a mission workcamp deal. Normally, these trips take high schoolers to run-down, desolate parts of the country, like Indian reservations and Appalachian villages. But this year, that desolate part of the country happens to be my hometown, Detroit. Motown. The Big D.

So this week, I’ve felt both pride and nostalgia for the place that formed me, a little guilt for having moved away so long ago, and despair that my kid and all the kids with him right now will never understand the treasures that that city held back in its day.

That last emotion may be common to all people as they get older. It’s not just some nostalgia for the way things were “back in my day”. It’s more an awareness that there’s a continuum of culture, that the way we live now has its roots in the choices that were made in the past. It’s also the awareness that civilization is fragile, accomplishments fade, and the American “Way of Life” can leave a lot of places and people on the scrap pile.

When I was born, Detroit was the 4th largest city in the nation, bigger than Los Angeles. The downtown Hudson’s Store was one of the biggest department stores in the country. The riverfront was full of factories (I remember a Uniroyal tire factory sitting odoriferously next to the bridge to Belle Isle). The Bob-Lo Boat took people downriver to Bob-Lo Island all spring and summer. We had Motown, the MC5, Alice Cooper, Parliament/Funkadelic. Overall, the place was ALIVE! Just like Bob Seger said, We were making Thunderbirds.

Now the place is a case study of “ruin porn.” To catalog all the problems and scandals of the past 20 years would send you into a fetal position, and for it to come from an exile like me would be completely inauthentic.

But I hope the kids on the workcamp can catch a glimpse of what the place had been, and what it could still be. People in Detroit are crazy and tenacious. They’ve had the rug pulled out from under them so many times that they might as well stay on the floor. But they don’t. It’s our largest industrial city in decline, which means there’s a certain critical mass there. Which means it might take longer to turn it around, but once it gets going, it will be hard to stop.

for the patient people out there who are following the podcast of “Honk Honk, My Darling”, I apologize that this episode took a while. While it was tough stripping in all the voices that I wasn’t satisfied with (particularly Bingo the clown), the biggest time suck was creating a sound pastiche for the big melee at the Banana Peel.

How does a brawl in a clown bar sound? Well, click on the player below and find out!

(BTW, you can find the other podcast chapters at the host site here: http://rexkoko.libsyn.com)

A couple weeks ago, I got an email out of the blue from an ABC News reporter who wanted to talk about L. Frank Baum and the myths that surround The Wizard of OZ. (A couple years ago, I wrote a review for a new bio of Baum.) We talked for a long time, very fun, and then she included me in her article like I was a professorial, talking-head type of guy. The article can be found here.

Little known fact: Baum called his landscape “OZ” because that was the serving size he required for his sinsemilla. And the Lion was meant to refer to Haile Salassie, the “Lion of Judah”, even though he was only 8 years old at the time.

Don’t believe me? Try that little trick with the movie and “Dark Side of the Moon.” Properly baked, of course.

Yesterday I drove up to northern Michigan, to drop off Number One Son at Interlochen for his week of sketching, drawing, painting and all around visual excitement. For those who haven’t been up to that school, it’s a campus-like feeling in the pines there, less like a camp than the boarding school it is. Spiffy and new, a mecca for tasteful patrons of the arts.

In their bandshell, the first concert of the season was “A Prairie Home Companion”. Some part of me resisted buying a ticket to this show until the last minute, but I finally decided to stick around and watch. I bought the ticket 3 days before the concert, and there were all of 4 tickets left. They were in Row G, and were more than I intended to spend, but I’m grateful it worked out. I was about 30 feet from the stage, and it was an awesome evening. If I’d had my honey and my daughter with me, it would have been perfect.

Doing some math, I realize I’ve seen Garrison Keillor now four times, in four different locales: St. Paul and Chicago in the 80s, New York (or Brooklyn?) in the early 90s, and now Interlochen. He’s planning on retiring, I had heard, so I figured it would be worthwhile to see him one last time. The setting was gorgeous, the evening weather was perfect, and all of the musical acts were sublime (except for Robin & Linda Williams, who had all the presence of margarine and looked like a couple people who repped pet toys at conventions, though Keillor’s comfort with them was unmistakeable).

Most of all, it was supremely enjoyable to watch Keillor perform. His stage demeanor was much warmer than I ever remember it. He was having a great time, and did a good job interacting with the audience and the young musical performers. Pacing back and forth as he told the news from Lake Woebegon, it was like he was telling a story at a cocktail party. A highlight (as you might expect for me) was watching him try and stump Fred Newman, his sound FX guy, with ever-more-elaborate vocalizations. I didn’t realize the subtle labial variations required for sounds of an outboard motor, a chainsaw, and embarrassing stomach noises. (I still can’t figure out how he made the dead-on sound of a truck backing up.) The other actors were great fun, too, especially when they performed highlights from movies filmed in northern Michigan (“Muskie Man” and “The Buddy System”). I listened to the repeat of the show today, by accident, and got the fuller effect of seeing it all in my mind. Coupling the sound with the memories of last night were a real charge to the imagination. In fact, listening to the whole show, I forced myself to remember everything I could–what performers were wearing, what the harpist’s brown hands looked like on the strings, when performers laughed, the signs in the background for Guy’s Shoes and the Catchup Advisory Board. It felt like flexing a strong muscle, warm and enjoyable.

With a career as long as Keillor’s, it’s easy to focus on a few faults. Sure, he’s corny. He coasts a lot of the time (I never have to hear “Da Doo Ron Ron” again please — I can’t stand any more boomers and plus-boomers trying to clap to the beat). He panders a little to his liberal, educated, arts-patron crowd. But he’s also crafty and entertaining and knows what he’s doing. More importantly, we won’t see the like of him again very soon, so I’m very thankful I went. The drive home in the dark was worth every minute. Thank you for your many years of creativity, Mr. Keillor.

For this show from Interlochen, check out videos and information here.

Before I lose these in a haystack of paper, I thought I’d share them here:

Turandot was fond of her riddles,
Scaring suitors so much they would piddle.
The Ice Princess feared
Anyone with a beard
Who might end her tyrannical idyll.

Then Calef in ragged disguise
Looked in her mysterious eyes
And guessed them, all right.
No one slept through the night
As he took claim of Puccini’s prize.

The literary event of 2011 is here! You’ve been waiting patiently, wondering whether VS Naipaul and Paul Theroux have really buried the hatchet, whether we’ll ever have villains as long lasting and nattily dressed as the Nazis, and why there’s no Nobel Prize for Country Music so Lyle Lovett can win the first. You’ve been waiting for the latest trend, after chick lit, dick lit, mick lit, heimlich lit, flea-and-tick lit, and New Brunswick lit.

Well, that new trend is now launched: Schtick lit.

Or more specifically, Clown Noir.

Honk Honk, My Darling: A Rex Koko, Private Clown Mystery is now available as an e-book for all platforms, laptops, tablets, smart phones, and metal head plates. You can buy it from Amazon, and for any others, you can check it out conveniently at Smashwords.com. (You can also go straight to B&N, iTunes, the Sony Store, and others.)

The action is captured brilliantly in this synopsis from Amazon (written by me, of course):

In Top Town, a ghetto full of washed-up circus lifers in the shadow of a big city, Rex Koko is a pariah. Yet this clown’s brand of chaos helps him solve the most heinous crimes, as he tries to earn personal redemption. In “Honk Honk, My Darling”, Rex is hired by an aging, arrogant trapeze star to bring back his wayward wife. Every time Rex comes close to finding her, however, other aerialists come to gruesome and spectacular ends. Is Addie Carlozo a “black widow”? Is Rex really cursed with bad luck? Why is he being followed by those red-headed roustabout bastards, the Redd Brothers? And will “circus justice” intervene before the police do? Revenge, corruption and murder headline the bill in Top Town, where life comes 3 balls for a nickel. Babes, bullets, banana peels! As the poet said, “Damn everything, but the circus!”

Who could resist such adventure! What red-blooded reader could turn away from such a spectacle!

But wait, there’s more!

I’ll also be recording podcasts for every chapter in the book, and release them bi-weekly throughout the end of the year. Complete with music, sound effects, and fake advertisers, the podcast will feature me doing more than 20 magnificent characters, including midget detective Pinky Piscopink, cooch show owner Lotta Mudflaps, Mayor Eugene X. Brody, and of course, the Redd Brothers. These can be found on the Rex Koko website, as well as at Liberated Syndication. Here’s Episode 1 to get you hooked, brought to you by the fine folks at the Suddsy Corporation:

All this and more is contained at the new Rex Koko website, http://rexkoko.com. That will be the place for news and updates, merchandise, and everything else. You can even follow Rex on Twitter, if you’re the wired type of person who needs updates from fictional characters (I should talk–I follow The Real Deadpool, DrunkHulk and Jane Wheel). Look for RexKoko4Hire in the twitterlands.

For all the tree-haters out there, I hope to have paperback copies available by the end of the summer.

Thanks to all my readers for their support through the years. I hope they enjoy reading about Rex Koko as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about him through the years.

Man, there are so many little details about getting a book finished and out, it’s no wonder my former publisher seemed incompetent.

On the other hand, they had a few more guys on staff who didn’t have to relearn the wheel every time, like I’m doing.

Honk Honk, My Darling: A Rex Koko, Private Clown Mystery is barreling down the track of e-publishment. It’s pretty exciting, and might even get here sooner if I weren’t such a doofus and actually read all the instructions, manuals and tutorials that are supposed to help me get it out there.

But barreling it is, thanks to the work of Airan Wright, who did the cover art (and also redesigned my webpages here). I don’t want to put the cover art up yet, but believe me, it is knockout. Or as my friend Jon Eig emailed, “Totally Kickass!” When Airan and I got together last month to talk about the cover of this and its sequel, The Wet Nose of Danger, it took us literally three minutes to agree on a look, feel and color palette. Fonts? Layout? Graphic elements? Check, check, check. Waitress, please, another zinzer torte!

So at least the look will be handled by professionals. The coding for Kindle and its brethren is going a little smoother, too. Honk Honk will be the fifth book I’ve formatted (did one for a friend gratis, though it may have been a little rudimentary). I haven’t really dug deep into coding, but it appears that’s not all that necessary for a straight-ahead fiction book. My copy editing skills from days gone by have come in handy (so has the OCD). My formats might be changed and improved in the future, since uploading new versions is really a snap. Doing it frequently would be a bad idea, though, if I want to keep readers happy.

In addition to this, I’m recording and editing the audiobook podcast for Honk Honk. Audacity is really a great program for it: Very intuitive, easy to undo mistakes and miscues, easy to save files. It DID crash on me when I tried to copy and insert a very big chunk of dialog I had been pasting together. But it wasn’t a catastrophic loss, and I learned (again) the value of saving files. The first episodes will be available shortly. It’s taking longer than I thought, but I’m doing 16 characters in all, which I’ve been editing together from separate audio tracks.

Now, the only things I have to figure out are how to set up merch from Cafe Press, how to promote the books online and arrange book reviews, how to create postcards for it, how to get physical copies made, and how to use social media to better promote me and my brand.

Well, I guess that’s what the afternoon is for.

Fall of Berlin Wall — late Sunday night, falling asleep in front of CNN.

Nelson Mandela released from prison, fall and assassination of Nicolai Ceceascu — on NPR, driving in the snow at night, back to Detroit for Christmas. Developments during the 6-hour drive were regular and dramatic.

Attack on the World Trade Center — on NPR, driving to work. Went out and bought a small TV as soon as Best Buy opened.

Death of the coward Osama Bin Laden — On Facebook, then to CNN, again late on a Sunday night.

I’m very grateful that the fall of tyranny can burn strong memories in my head as vivid as those of great tragedy. It bodes well for my continued sanity. Watching Wolf Blitzer and John King stammer and vamp while waiting and waiting for the White House announcement was funny for a while, but I put up with it because the only alternative was Geraldo Rivera on the graveyard shift on Fox. (I hope he remembered to start the coffee for the morning crew before he left.)

And the college kids in front of the White House butchering the National Anthem made me yearn for a bombastic pro singer from a hockey game to wheel out a PA in a dapper suit and blow em all away. Where’s Fat Bob the Singing Plumber when you need him?

But those were as nothing, compared with watching Obama walk down that red carpet (repressing a swagger, you could just tell) and deliver his news in such calm and measured terms. I wanted more details — how Osama was shot, how many times, who got to chew on his skull first — but will certainly accept his announcement, including his reference to Bush and the reassertion that we were never at war with Islam. Gracious, exact, statesmanlike, cool, and in the end deadly. (The only note that was off was when he called for Americans to show the unity we did back in September 2001. Surely someone on the right is going to chastise him for using this moment to score partisan points! That will be the amusing sloppy seconds for the next few days: watching conservatives find Obama’s failings in this whole operation. Watch for lots of blame going to Bill Clinton for his impotent tossing of cruise missiles at Afghan training camps in 1998. And probably lots of mentions of Jimmy Carter, just to bring up his name to sully this effort.)

I certainly hope Obama allowed himself a WHOOOP when he got back out of camera range. I’d say it called for a drink and a cigarette.

Not much interesting material comes in the regular mail these days. And I’m sure you’re all familiar with the solicitations that are produced by machines that make it appear the envelope has been hand-written.

So imagine how I felt when I received a small envelope last Friday, postmarked from Oakland, CA, a city in which I don’t know anyone. And imagine how I felt when I opened it and found this inside:

Yep, that’s right, Michael Chabon thinks BARDBALL is “very cool”! He’s one of my favorite writers in the entire civilized world, and he took a moment to write — IN PEN! — that he thought our little baseball poetry blog is very cool. If you haven’t read his Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, then you are depriving yourself of a massive treat. I also enjoyed the hell out of The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, Summerland, and Maps & Legends.

I mailed him a copy of the 2010 Bardball chapbook in the spring, with no greater intention than thinking he might enjoy it. And spank my ass and call me Bieber, but he did! This is going up on the wall, next to my fan letters from Ernie Harwell and a certain ex-president who will not be named but did get impeached.

After all, I can’t namedrop ALL DAY! He he he!!