Friday, July 22, 2005

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

Wednesday poet friend Tim and I went over to San Francisco to Smack Dab, a reading series with open mike in the heart of the Castro. D. Travers Scott was down from Seattle to read from his novel, One of These Things Is Not Like the Other.

The scene he read involved incest, murder, and animals eating human flesh. Or rather, talk about incest, possible murder, and mysteriously fresh dog food.

I bought a copy. On the train home Tim said he'd like to borrow it when I was finished. I handed it over. "I've got so many books going it's going to be a long time till I get to this one."

When I bought the novel from the author and he asked if I wanted it personalized, asked my name, and I told him, he perked up having recognized the name from comments I've left on his blog. So that was kinda fun, too, having kinda sorta already met him online then in the flesh. I kept thinking later that I ought to have said something like, "Want to go out for drinks?" Because Scott & his partner seemed nice and it would be fun to make friends. But I don't much like drinks and all the places for drinks are so noisy and I don't have a car and it was late and the later it gets the more problematic the trip back across the Bay becomes. So we just said, "See you online!"

2 comments:

D. Travers Scott said...

Hey Glenn!

It was way cool meeting you in SF. No worries on the post-reading socializing. I'm always masking huge attacks of social anxiety in situations like that, whether I'm the reader or in the audience.

Hope all's well - I'm in LA now and racing to get up to speed with new grad school...

Glenn Ingersoll said...

Social anxiety. Yeah! Wait. Isn't there a drug for that?

Hope you're adjusting nicely in L.A.