First, the news: Russell Henderson this week plead guilty for his part in the murder of Matthew Shepard, and he was sentenced to two consecutive life sentences. He said he was "sorry" and his grandmother pleaded with the judge no to remove Henderson from "our lives forever." The judge declared him remorseless. McKinney's trial will be in August. Shepard's parents are hereby spared a lot of nonsensical "homosexual panic" defense maneuvres. You know, the one by which people say, "He came on to me. I had to `defend myself.' "
After work I went to A Different Light for the Justin Chin reading. He is the author of a volume of essays I just read, called Mongrel.
I walked around the store a bit and I noticed an Asian man giving me the eye. Finally, someone is actually possibly trying to pick me up in a bookstore. It's like a dream come true. Never mind that I have to stretch my cerebral cortex to find something about him attractive, but let's face it, at this point, at my advanced age, anyone finding me attractive is instantly attractive in a way he wasn't moments before.
Let's call him Huan, since initials get tiresome.
I went downstairs and sat in the back, since those are better seats. I plunked myself and Huan later came down the staircae and plunked himself beside me.
Now I am the King of Chit Chat, and I have no trouble making pre-prurient smalltalk whenever it is required. His hand lingered way too long when we shook hands. Huan had to leave at 7:30 and was worried that Justin Chin would be upset if someone got up and left in the middle of the reading. He then started the "how often are you here?" inquiries, so I said:
"Wouldn't it be a lot easier if I just gave you my phone number?"
So I did. Then ten minutes later, he comes down, with a "friend" and the friend is carrying on about how worried he was when he couldn't find Huan. Sounded a lot more like a boyfriend than a friend, if you ask me.
Tease tease tease.
Justin Chin is a very gracious author, and kindly let me ask a few questions after the reading. Unfortunately, it was an ill-attended reading, but Tuesdays are known to be very slow nights in NYC in general.
After the reading I headed over to the offices of LGNY and I ran into Troy, the publisher, as he was leaving. He said something along the lines of "you look so light and happy." Considering I am in the middle of a family squabble that has be very angry right now, this is discomfitting. Tony has also noticed that I am "my old self" since I have "turned mean" again.
Sheesh! What was the point of all that therapy if I seem happiest when I am at my angriest?
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