Bryant Park Celebrity Sighting, Part Deux

As previously mentioned, I walk past Bryant Park twice a day. Even when it isn't Fashion Week, there's always a parade of fashionistas and fashiondon'tas. I'm usually in the latter category, I just can't do chic at work, for some reason.

Anyway. Today I was staggering my sick ass towards the subway station and ogling the Totally Queer Eye stick figures prancing down the street in front of me. Rail thin with artfully disheveled hair and charmingly distressed clothing, they walked together and kissy-faced in unison, dissing some guy from some party who clearly wasn't as cool and popular as he thought he was. Suddenly, the hens cooed as one and stopped on a dime. "Dan!" They squealed, and hugged the poor guy to bits.

I looked at Dan. Hey! It's sex columnist Dan Savage! He's quite tall and handsome, I bet he has a ton of fag hags. What's cool about seeing, and smiling at, Dan Savage is that he wrote the foreward to an anthology in which one of my stories is published. Some connection with the editors of said anthology, who were both keen on having cool contacts and so on.

Breeder came about from a now-defunct website called HipMama, which was born of authoress Ariel Gore and her friend Bee Lavender. They are Portland, Oregon and San Francisco hipsters, by the by, and single moms. From the sizzling-hot forums on that highly-politicized website, Ariel and Bee culled stories of motherhood that were Generation-X in nature. I was involved in the online writing group that sprung from HipMama and that provided most of the stories in the anthology. I submitted a true story of panic and danger and fear. They loved it, and it became a part of literary history. Woohoo!

Once published, a book tour was planned. I attended the launch at Powell's Books in Portland, Oregon. I'd never read my story out loud before. Never having experienced an iota of stage fright before in my life, I was shocked when I stopped halfway through, sobbing, crying, unable to speak. It was like reliving that horrific day all over again. Applause, hugs, and even requests for autographs followed this bit of unintentional high drama.

Then, the book reviews. Publisher's Weekly singled me out for not writing with more mature crafting. Ye Gods. I purposely wrote it with urgency and realness, because it's a true story and that's how I felt at the time. If I wrote it with mature crafting, it would sound wonky, you stupid whore! Heh. Bitter, Table for One?

Anyway, here's the link to the book on Amazon.com. Not suggesting you buy one, but you can read Dan Savage's foreword and read my damn stupid retarded review.