Friday Miscellany

I went to the dentist on Monday, yet my face feels swollen today. Coincidence? Um, yeah, duh! It's the hard partying I did last night with college kids. Nah. It just means I'm getting old. Now don't go telling me what a baby I still am here in my thirties. I've been an old woman for a long time and it has nothing to do with my actual age. My friend L. and I went and heard Neil Gaiman read last night at San Jose State University amidst a sea of students. It was fabulous, but I was tired and the seats hurt and this be-vested kid who smelled like bologna was taking up my personal space. Unlike my friend Robin, I did not have any hilarious interactions with him or even snap anything other than a blurry photo from afar because I get claustrophobic at signing events and the room smelled like B.O. and I was so tired my eyelids were drooping.

In other news. My friend Ms. Lori passionately exorcises her rage about OJ Simpson's new media ploy that suggests he really is an insane murderer.

Meg Fowler is just plain funny and I like reading her blog. Try it on.

Sue Henderson of Lit Park tackles the complex issue of whether or not writer's mothers support their writing (or even know about it). Her own story might just bring a little ole tear to your eye.
I now return to the grueling slave-race known as National Novel Writing Month.