We always said the 215 wasn't your typical literary festival. For one, there is always booze, nothing worse than a sober writer. All that booze leads to some wackiness, of course. We've had people go back to hotels with best-selling novelists. Other, older, best-sellers have tried to hook up with young cuties and been shot down. Someone even got pregnant at a 215. For reals. Even when sex wasn't involved, I'm such a fan girl that hanging out with writers is delirious fun.
But last night may have been the craziest 215 ever. David Rees called it, it was a five alarm banger. And I don't even know what that means.
It began as one would expect. Rees was over-the-top funny. I mean, seriously. If you can catch him live (dates on the right) DO NOT MISS IT. Hodgman was his excellent Hodgman self, if slightly more serious than past performances. Still, the finger on the touchpad voting screen bit slayed me. Another don't miss tour. I adore that man.
But it was the afterparty that tore shit up. Ian Svenonius dj'ed arcane and insanely funky soul and blues. Lord Whimsy got his dance on. Random passersby joined in the dancing-- in the neighborhood of the Latvian Society, those passersby are going to be, well, interesting. At one point Rees thought some "greasers" were going to start throwing punches. Rees is excitable.
Then, just as the greasers were disappointing us with their pacifism, in walked the cake-taker. An androgynous female version of Omar from The Wire. She was fascinating. You couldn't take your eyes off her, and she was all over everyone. Dancing in our faces, up against our bodies, trying to hook up with us. She had a DSLR with a giant lens and took pictures of everyone. What I wouldn't pay to have some of those pictures. It was when she entered the scene, dancing her ass off, in her cowboy hat and briefs peaking out of tight jeans, that Rees called it. A five alarm banger.
But when she sat down next to Rex and me, took off a boot and produced a what looked like, to my untrained eye, a big black Glock hand gun, well, shit got bananas. She tried to get my number after that, and let me tell you, it's hard to say no to a heat-packing plate of sex even when you are happily married. Unless, like me, guns scare the living shit out of you.
Best 215 ever? Oh yes. I think so.
Comments