My friend Dennis DiClaudio recently moved from Philly to Queens, but he’s so busy gallivanting from reading to reading that I hardly ever see him.* Yesterday he shed some light on his recent activities.
I go to a lot of literary events, because they’re cheap, and the girls there seem less averse to nerdy hair-thinning guys who can’t make a three-point shot to save their life. Not all of them are a great time. I’ve come to feel that the actual reading pre-drinking/talking portion is something one must endure for the chance to get at those girls. (I was at a poetry reading recently, and had the distinct impression of being splattered with hot grease.)
* Or maybe it’s just that, when you’ve seen one sodden evening in my company, you’ve seen more than enough. Perfectly understandable. But let the record show, DiClaudio, that I will bear a lifelong grudge against you for failing to invite me to the last-fucking-ever Punk Rock/Heavy Metal Karaoke night at the Continental.