Toronto: Type Books is one of the most beautiful bookstores I’ve ever seen. Maria and I spent a half-hour just walking around the shop and pointing at all of the books we wanted to read. Sean Dixon killed it. I can’t wait to read The Girls Who Saw Everything. Host Kyle Buckley and I spent a fair amount of time admiring the basketball teams of each other’s cities, but then he got on a Kobe love trip and I had to make him come correct.
Ottawa: We found out about a week before the trip that it was Canadian Thanksgiving that weekend. They have pilgrims and cranberry sauce and everything, all of which struck me as some serious b.s., but what can be done? We had an “intimate” show at The Avant-Garde Bar, but both Jennifer Whiteford and Megan Butcher were so good that it felt like a packed house. We got to hang out with Lesley Dishslayer and Jennifer’s friend Adam, whom I remembered from my last visit. I have unmitigated love for Ottawa. Everyone I’ve met there has been so kind and creative and interesting. People in Canada talk about that town the same way people in the States talk about Cleveland. Both are unwarranted, to my mind.
Montreal: Monday was Thanksgiving proper, so much of Montreal was sleepy or out of town. Maria and I meandered. We hung out at Mont Royal, down in Old Montreal, and in various parts of town that looked like one thing and turned out to be another (i.e. hipsterland was actually Hasidicland). Jacob Wren brought the entire crowd to Le Cagibi, and the reading was saved. Before all of that, though, my day was made when Maria and I stopped into a restaurant called Cafe Local and met this awesome French-Canadian waitress, whose name I think was Mer. We chatted for a long time, and she told us she had a book coming out next year, a memoir/reportage for young adults about being politically left and delinquent as a kid, in French. How awesome is Canada?
New York: Somehow we found parking right across from McNally Robinson on the Lower East Side, and Maria and I got out and wandered. A homeless guy answered my polite rebuff of his request for spare change with the to-the-quick response, “Why do you hate me?” It blew our minds. The Dollar Sore, with Tobias Carroll, Bryan Charles and Scott Snyder, couldn’t have gone any better. We had a huge crowd, thanks in part no doubt to the NYTimes preview, and I saw a lot of good friends I hadn’t seen in too long. It’s been fun to watch the Dollar Store travel, makes me think we should make it a roving affair.
Providence: Myopic Books was the kind of New England used bookstore that I miss: Musty and quiet and quaint and run by an exceedingly kind bibliophile. We couldn’t convince the Providence Phoenix to even list the reading, so there was one person there whom I didn’t know, but that became its own fun. I’d planned the tour in a way that would allow me to catch up with old friends, even if the reading was a bust. But it ended up being a lot of fun, with the only audience that called for an encore, mostly because when it was over, I was just standing there and no one knew what to do.
Cambridge: Again with the awesome New England used bookstore, Lorem Ipsum. This was a sort of mini-Dollar Store, with Yoni Gordon and I trade stories and songs. Yoni is one of the most talented songwriters I know, and we had a blast going back and forth.
Maine: Didn’t do a reading here, but my pal Abby got married and everyone got stupid and, if you’ve ever seen me dance, you know that I left Maine a better, more rhythmic place.
Salem: Reading in Salem on Halloween—a dream come true. This was definitely my hometown reading, and there were about a million blasts from the past that made everything exceedingly fun and nerve-wracking, in a good way. I had two, two!, past karate teachers show up.
Philadelphia: This will go down as the strangest reading on the tour. I didn’t know it was happening at the time, but apparently it was simulcast on Skype. All of the papers listed it as happening at 7pm, but the bookstore was adamant about starting at 6, which is not really a formula for success. Also, as I walked down the stairs after the reading I spied the pile of posters I’d made and sent them for promotion lying in a pile on top of a bookcase. Well done! Regardless, we saw the sights in Philly, I read to the five people who knew it was starting at six, and I got to hang out with Christian, whom I hadn’t seen in a couple years.
Chapel Hill: The people of Internationalist Books could not have been sweeter. Internationalist is one of those radical collective bookstore joints that every city should have. The Independent Weekly gave the book one of my all-time-favorite reviews, the writer just really seemed to get it. I was also able to hang out with my 11-month-old cousin Aidan, who spent most of his time trying to climb me. The reading was a perfect end to the tour. Special thanks to Mandey, the very apologetic young woman who came in late but who told me she’d read the book twice (!) and loved it. There could be no better send-off than that.
