We're not all swimmin' pools and movie stars out here. Some of us actually, you know, read. Books that is. With words and everything. Really. And to show just how literate we can be, UCLA is hosting the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books this weekend.
Booksellers, publishers, authors, and the obligatory writers in tin-foil hats whose collected works will be published if only someone would recognize their staggering genius and give them a multi-million dollar book deal with fame, fortune, lots of large breasted, ex-porn, lit-groupies who will get on their knees in the presence of such greatness to show their appreciation in the way their previous profession has so thoroughly taught them.
Yes, those guys'll be there. If you're lucky, you'll hear a rant or two at an agent panel.
Be that as it may, the Festival's a blast. And it'll be nice and HOT, too. 83 degrees, baby. Every goddamn year the sun turns it up a notch to try to jump start our annual roasting. So grab an overpriced lemonade, dodge the stroller wielding yoga moms and hit a signing or two.
Of course there'll be signings. Lots of 'em. Check out the Sisters In Crime booth and the Mystery Bookstore booth (Saturday, Sunday). They'll have authors with cramped hands and the thousand yard stare that comes from the multitudes of people walking by like ravenous sharks.
What? You want more? Pretty goddamned demanding, aren't you? Fine. Check out the Mystery Bookstore's annual Pre-Festival Party And Square Dance Hootenanny tonight from 5 to 9. Okay, I made that last part up. There will be no square dancing that I know of. Thank god.
But there will be authors. Not drunk either. Well, mostly not drunk. And that really is a shame, don't you think? Authors should be permanently soused in my opinion. Nothing like a book that reads like your college roomie in one of his stream of consciousness pot hazes.
So go this weekend. Buy books. Get 'em signed. Make an ass out of yourself in front of your favorite authors. It's fun.
I do it every year.