Monday, September 29, 2003

In which I leave out the Alan Rickman televisual anecdote in favour of bed

I was sent a copy of Neal Pollack's rock and roll novel to end all rock and roll novels, Never Mind the Pollacks, some months ago. The publisher wanted a blurb and they needed it immediately, and given the amount of time I had when they asked, it wasn't going to happen. But I finally read it a few weeks ago, thought it was hilarious, and promptly picked up The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature to read on the plane. It was wonderful fun, parodying attitudes and styles of self-obsessed essay-journalism (mostly) to (mostly) hilarious results. Neal Pollack's on tour at present -- he may be coming to your town. Tour schedule at
Go and see him. Tell him I said hi.

And I'd write a whole proper honest to goodness journal entry here, but sleep beckons. It doesn't just beckon, actually. Right now it's more or less jumping up and down on the bed waving both arms, shouting my name through a loud-hailer, and it's clutching a home-made sign with "WILL YOU GO TO BED ALREADY?" lettered on it rather crudely.

So. Norway tomorrow. Then Sweden. Then Croatia. Then Germany. Details and a couple of new tour stops added over at Where's Neil: