The Yang Slinger: Vol. XXXVI
The Yang Slinger: Vol. XXXVI
Every author wants to do a book signing—until they do a book signing. Welcome to the mortifying, embarrassing, humbling world of the book event.
Way back in the lord’s year of 2008, I wrote a book about the 1990s Dallas Cowboys titled, “Boys Will Be Boys.”
I was coming off of the woefully underperforming, “Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero,” and expectations were fairly low. Yet, thanks to some excellent media hits and a bunch of salacious excerpts, the book soared up the New York Times’ best-seller’s list and stayed there for a while.
As a result, I was hot property. My publisher sent me to Texas to do a bunch of press (radio, TV, etc.), and while sitting in my hotel in Dallas one afternoon, I received a call from HarperCollins’ head publicist
“I have some exciting news!” she told me. “We’ve arranged for you to do a last-minute signing at Fort Hood—the largest military base in America. They say they always draw big numbers, so it should be great.”
Alright! Now this is what I’d been waiting for! Fort Hood! Huge base! In Texas! I had a picture in my mind—an enormous room, overflowing with soldiers. The military buying each man his own copy of “Boys Will Be Boys.” I’d tell funny stories as the, oh, 500 … 600 … 700 troops sat enraptured. Then, afterward, I’d sign copies and pose for photos. It would be, at age 36, the crowning moment of my career.
I was 100-percent in!
On the morning of the event, I woke up extra early and made the 2 1/2-hour southbound drive. I was greeted by an older uniformed man who shook my hand and said, earnestly, “We don’t get many celebrities around here.” He then handed me a mug and a T-shirt and excused himself so I could be interviewed by the base’s very own newspaper reporter. “I just hope the soldiers enjoy it,” I said. “This is for them.”
After a brief break, I was led to the signing. Which, eh, wasn’t in an auditorium, or even a large room. Nope—it would take place at the front of the base’s Walmart-sized general store. There was a table with a stack of roughly 100 books.
Then, the announcement over the PA system …
“John Pearlman will now be signing his books!”
Oh, no.
“John Pearlman …”
People walked past and stared. People walked past and waved. People walked past and did their all to avoid any sort of eye contact.
I sat at that table for three hours.
I sold four books.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Midway through, I ducked under the table to call the wife.
“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I said.
“You can’t, she replied. “It’s a book signing.”
In case you’re still wondering, I dread book signings. I dreaded them in Dallas, I dread them 15 years later as I sit here at my desk, palms glazed in sweat at the very conjuring. I dread entering a store and seeing the table where I’m scheduled to sit and sign. I dread the shop manager telling me how excited they are. I dread the reality that, in 2011, Snooki’s “Confessions of a Guidette” not only bettered my Walter Payton biography on the Times list, but allowed her to stand before packed bookstores, peddling thousands of copies of a text she most certainly did not write. Fuck, I’ve dreaded book signings since my first-ever event way back in 2003. It was held at the Mahopac Public Library in my hometown of Mahopac, N.Y. Three people attended. Two were my parents. The other was Andrew Honohan’s sister.
And I’d love to say this has nothing to do with ego. But, in all honesty, it has everything to do with ego. Minus ego, I wouldn’t feel like vomiting whenever I receive one of those looks at a sparsely attended signing—the “Oh, man, we both know you’re a loser” quick glance-and-go from the Barnes & Noble customer seeking out the bathroom. It’s a phenomenon far too many of us in the business have experienced. You’re at a table, alongside your books. No one cares. You know you’re a loser. They know you’re a loser. You don’t want them to make eye contact. They don’t want to make eye contact. But like passing a burning truck on the side of the 405, it’s irresistible. “I smile if they look up,” says Julie Carrick Dalton, author of “The Last Beekeeper.” “[I’ll say] ‘Hi, how are you?’ I try to look cheerful, hoping to lure them over to my table. Can they smell my desperation? Probably.”
“I feel like I’m having a garage sale and no one wants my crap,” says Jonathan Eig, whose new MLK biography is available for pre-order. “Because my crap sucks. And because garage sales are acts of desperation anyway. So I suck.”
The thing is, neither Carrick Dalton nor Eig suck. They’re both top-shelf writers with phenomenal bodies of work. But … book signings do suck. In part because there’s an aura and lore to them that fails to match most realities. Somehow, as authors, we continue to believe the hype of the book signing. That it’s a rite of passage. That it’s something to officially stamp AUTHOR atop our otherwise flimsy resumes. We’re fed photographs like this (from Hillary Clinton’s 2014 signing at the Bunch of Grapes Bookstore in Vineyard Haven) …
… and convince ourselves that, we too, will have long lines and eager audiences. We have this warped image in our minds—some soft Shawn Colvin music playing in the background, cups o’ coffee galore, avid readers itching to hear us break down the genius of our craft. A mug filled with three or four Sharpies, lest yours run dry. Everyone wearing sweaters and khakis.
Reader: “Hey Jeff, can I get a quick selfie?”
Jeff: “C’mon—of course.”
Bill the store employee: “We really need to keep the line moving.”
Jeff: [a compassionate grin toward the fan] “Nah, it’s all good, Billy.”
Bill the store employee: “Whatever you say, Mr. Pearlman.”
Jeff: “Seriously, call me Jeff.”
Halle Berry: “Lord, that’s one good looking writer.”
Bill the store employee: “Gosh—you’re the best Mister Pearl—I mean, Jeff.”
Chuckles aplenty.
Reader: “Is it OK if I buy 100 copies? They sure make great Easter gifts.”
Sigh.
Last weekend, the wife and I traveled to Arizona for the Tucson Festival of Books. I was slated to appear on a handful of panels, each one followed by a (egad) signing. The first panel was titled, “Forging New Paths,” and had me sitting alongside Jemele Hill, my longtime colleague and friend. Unlike Jemele, I am not famous—and while the panel was lovely, I d-r-e-a-d-e-d the aftermath. Here’s a photo I took …
And if you’re wondering, “Why did you snap a picture of Jemele Hill autographing a book?”—well, what the fuck else did I have to do? As Jemele signed, oh, 150 copies, I sat and watched, twiddling my thumbs, tapping my toes, wondering who got the best of the Lee Mazzilli-Bucky Dent trade of 1982. I probably inked four copies of “The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson” before rising, looking at Jemele, turning to my wife and saying, “Well, hey.”
The next day was worse. I appeared on a (joyful, fun, thrilling, cool) panel with Michael Loynd, author of “The Watermen,” and David Maraniss, two-time Pulitzer winner and a man with an enviable head of hair. Afterward we were ushered to a tent, placed at a table and presented with pens. David had a lengthy line. Michael had a chunky line. I had, eh … um … no real line. And that would be fine (OK, not fine. But survivable) were it not for a singular moment that, I am quite certain, the wife will never let me forget.
While thinking to myself, “Who would win in a fight between Elvis Costello and a one-armed Tim Foli?” I spotted a man holding my book. So I bellowed, “There’s no line here—step up and I’ll sign.” He looked at me somewhat uncomfortably, then held aloft the text—which wasn’t even mine.
“Oh,” I said, “Um … never mind.”
The wife immediately reminded me of the time, oh, a decade ago, when I reached to shake the hand of a supermarket cashier who was merely trying to give me the receipt. She laughed.
I did not.
The saving grace of this all is that we, the authors of the world, share the blissfully painful/awkward/weird bond of book events gone dreadful.
And that means plenty of stories.
Back in December, a young author named Chelsea Banning had this Tweet go viral …
And the responses were delightful. One author after another after another sharing their moments of dread. Like this. And this. And this. And this. In compiling this Substack entry, I had no trouble digging up similar sagas.
For example …
Back in 2005, Jamie Reidy was promoting his book, “Hard Sell,” at the Notre Dame bookstore. Jamie is an Irish grad, and this was the day before the annual USC clash. “Thousands of alums would be passing by the author's tables in the lobby,” he DMed me. “My publisher created a poster for the event. The bookstore rep ordered dozens of copies of my book. They were stacked on both sides of me as I sat at the six-foot table.”
He sold five copies.
“I was ready to pack up and go drink beers with friends who were in town for the game,” he wrote. “Then, two classmates came by. I was psyched to see friendly faces. We all lived in the same apartment complex senior year, and they were regulars at my roommates' Wednesday Night keg party. We chatted for a few minutes, I vented a bit about how uptight Catholic men are, and then they had to get going. Uhhhh, you guys gonna buy a copy??? NO! THEY DIDN'T FUCKING BUY A COPY OF THE BOOK THEIR BUDDY WROTE, THE BOOK THAT WAS THE ONLY REASON THEY HAPPENED TO RUN INTO SAID BUDDY FOR THE FIRST TIME IN AGES! The female author at the table next to me sold a few hundred copies of her animated book about a dog that got lost on campus.”
For another example …
Amy Bass was in Boston to promote “One Goal.” The scene was a private corporate event—“huge,” she recalled. “Like the original Ted.” The night involved something called a literary salon, where between talks the guests could meet authors, pick up their work. “I’m wined and dined and everything is five star and on day two I have to go my salon table,” Amy recalled. “I’m in between … Deepak Chopra and Tom Brady. The books are all paid for—piles of them, free, for attendees. We just have to sign and smile. But essentially I become book signing road kill, taking photos of people with Tom or Deepak or both … and my table is where people put their stuff while dealing with those two. ‘Can you hold this?’ and ‘Can you take our picture?’ and ‘Can you …’. And on and on. I would say I couldn’t even give my books away except … THEY WERE ALREADY FREE. At the end of the salon session, my table is covered with peoples water and coffee cups, granola bar wrappers, and … all of my books. Deepak thanked me “for assisting with the salon.”
For another example …
Harvey Araton, the longtime New York Times scribe, was doing a reading/signing at his neighborhood bookstore. “It’s getting close to start time and very few people are in attendance on a sunny fall (prime youth soccer) Saturday afternoon,” he recalled. “A familiar face enters—the father of my younger son’s close friend. I’m so grateful I want to hug him. Instead, he turns to the woman at the counter and says, ‘I’m looking for Mike Lupica’s new (middle grade) novel.’ That moment when you’re sure there’s no God.”
And another example …
Shaun Gallagher, author of “Experiments for Newlyweds,” held a signing at a book store on the University of Delaware campus. “I ended up selling 1 1/2 copies in two hours,” he said. “The first copy I sold was when a young couple walked by, noticed the title of the book, and the woman said they happened to be going to a wedding that very evening. So she was pretty enthusiastic about it. Easy sell. Then an older woman came in, and she came right up to the table, where about 30 copies of the new book sat. She asked me if I would autograph a copy of my previous book, "Experimenting With Babies." Well, they were out. I felt bad, because she had made the effort to come to the signing. And I happened to have one copy of "Experimenting With Babies" in my laptop bag, which I had brought with me. So, I produced my own copy, signing it for her, and she thanked me profusely and said that the least she could do was buy a copy of "Experiments for Newlyweds" in return. So I sold a second copy—but only by giving away a copy of the other book.
It goes on and on. Erik Sherman, author of an upcoming Fernando Valenzuela biography, drove the 3 1/2 hours from New Rochelle, N.Y. to Boston for an event to hype his book about the 1986 Red Sox. He brought his wife and son along to share in the glory. “They made up 40 percent of the audience,” he recalled. “Yes, just three others showed up.” Anne Byrn, the fabulous cookbook author, trekked to Charlotte for a signing at a Barnes and Noble inside a mall. “No one showed,” she said. “The employees of the store sat in the seats and pretended to be customers.” C.J. Farley, author of “Around Harvard Square,” appeared at an event and did a signing the same time as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s. “So I sat there behind my desk, more or less alone, as the throngs of people lined up for Kareem,” Farley recalled. “I think I signed a couple books, but only because a few people didn’t want to wait in the other long line.” Susan McKinney, author of “Flirting in Spanish,” has languished at tables, watching the masses pass with nary a care in the world. “There is a little bit of excitement, then you realize nobody in Wisconsin can immediately relate to the story of a girl who lived in Mexico,” she said. “So people walk by you, and then there is a lot of boredom.”
Yup.
So why do we do this?
Why do we continue to appear and sign (or not sign)?
Honestly, because writing a book is a grind. It’s lonely and isolating and frustrating. You become a recluse. You talk to the walls. You live and die with a subject—and when it’s finished all you want to do is celebrate the accomplishment.
And, truth be told, I’ve had some lovely signing experiences. I promoted Bo at three independent Alabama book shops, and the crowds were … decent. Not otherworldly, but large enough that I left feeling encouraged and energized. More recently I did an event at the Kansas City Public Library, and about 500 people attended. That doesn’t mean I signed 500 books, per se, but it was a large crowd that laughed at some of my jokes.
One of my favorite author friends is Kaira Rouda, who has sold a gazillion books and always seems chipper and ready to go. Though she’s had her rough experiences (“One person showed up at one of my very first signings. It was in Kentucky. He was an old man who insisted I do my talk. At the end he asked me to sign the book, but I told him he had to buy it first. He said he only bought books if the author’s signature was legible.”), she attacks the author appearance with enviable vigor. When I asked for the five keys to survival, she didn’t flinch …
Sense of humor.
Low expectations.
Remember to breathe.
Smile even if it’s sad.
The fifth was my favorite.
Will always be my favorite.
Remind yourself you wanted to be an author. Book events are part of the dream—even if only one grumpy old man shows up.
Amen.
The Quaz Five with … Steven Rissotto
Steve Rissotto is a San Francisco State junior who covers the Giants for SFBay.ca. You can follow him on Twitter here.
1. You're a college kid who also covers the San Francisco Giants. How the hell did that happen?: I’ve been trying to figure it out myself, it’s been pretty surreal. In May 2021, Taylor Wirth was covering the team for SF Bay and accepted another job with NBC Sports Bay Area. I had formed a connection with Taylor and he filled me in on the vacant position. SF Bay is well known for giving young, college-age writers a chance to dip their feet in covering professional sports, so I figured it would be worth a shot. After sending in a few clips and covering two games remotely, I was credentialed. To say it was intimidating would be a massive understatement –– overwhelmed would be better. Should I have been covering high school lacrosse, or something of that nature? Probably. But the environment at SF Bay allows me to make mistakes. I’m only at the ballpark a few times a week, so the scheduling presents more like an internship. Overall, it’s been really awesome getting my feet wet. I’m a pretty self-aware person so I know I’m far from a finished product, but it’s a nice start.
2. You started a podcast during the pandemic, and it's still going. And I wonder, with podcasts: What’s guest outreach like? How do you decide who you want on? How do you reach out to them? Do you ever try for longshots? Does it ever work?: I started RizzoCast in Spring 2020, right in the midst of COVID. I played baseball in high school and my senior season was canceled, so I was pretty pissed about it. I figured I could reach out to student-athletes around the country, who may have been trying to find a college to play at, and see if I can do anything to get their names out there. Once I realized I was capable of more, I started reaching out to bigger guests –– just anyone that popped up on my timeline at the right time, or a mutual contact in the media. I’m ignored and turned down a bunch. I get it, It’s a podcast and everyone has one. But from the very beginning, I didn’t want to look at the number of views or listens. I don’t care –– if I enjoy doing it, I won’t stop. I’ve published 131 episodes with 41 current and former professional baseball players –– including 26 big leaguers. Most of those guys aren’t household names, which gives me a blank canvas to work with. If nobody really knows about them, that’s better in my mind. Here’s a name for you: Shea Hillenbrand. I saw his name on the front page of Baseball Reference once day and automatically started looking for an email, phone number or agent. He wasn’t in the news. He was out of the game for ten years. I love the idea of talking to the most random players and finding new stories and information.
3. You're a young guy from the Bay Area, and were a toddler when Barry Bonds was wrapping up. So ... what's your perception of him, from your vantage?”: I don’t remember his career, but I read Love Me, Hate Me for the first time in fourth or fifth grade. I vivdly remember the Bonds quote on one of the first few pages said, “Love Me, Hate Me. I don’t give a fuck.” It was the first cuss word I ever read in a book, so take some credit for that. As for my perception, I view him as one of the greatest players of all time. I never lived through the steroid era, so I don’t know how it affected the relationship between baseball and the older fan when all was uncovered. He cheated, there’s no question about it. But I do know that it took MLB and the MLBPA to act on steroid matters only when the government intervened. I do know that Bonds was already in the 400/400 club before he turned immortal. I do know that the great players around him –– doing the same substances he did –– were still not better than him. The most disappointing part of all of it is the picking and choosing that’s going on from that era. The Hall of Fame enshrined Jeff Bagwell, Mike Piazza and Pudge Rodriguez. Piazza admitted to jucing in his book. Pudge was a name mentioned in Canseco’s book –– say what you want, but Canseco ended up being SPOT on about everyone he listed. And Bagwell; I mean, nothing set in stone, but really? So we’re vilifying Bonds while others walk free, including Selig.
4. Do you find people you age are still into journalism? Like, coming up we all wanted to be Gary Smith and Rick Reilly. Do your peers have similar goals?: I’m facinated by this and it definitely varies. I network with sportswriters who are my age quite frequently at conferences, in classes and on Twitter. The biggest thing I’ve noticed is they know Jeff Passan from Twitter, but they don’t know Jeff Passan from ESPN. Does that make sense? They’re aware that he’s breaking major stories, but they have no knowledge on his writing style and how he approaches a long-form feature. I just don’t think a lot of people read as much journalism, especially since we live in a world of content in 25-second blasts. I have TikTok, I enjoy it for the shits and giggles. But to hear that folks are using it as a news source is nauseating and legitimately makes me want to play in traffic. Another thing that kind of connects: the goal isn’t Sports Illustrated or the New York Times anymore –– the Athletic is still a goal for a lot of us who understand the writing aspect. It’s all about ESPN and becoming a talking head on First Take, which I personally don’t see as journalism. Stephen A. Smith and Skip Bayless were both columnists at one point –– people often forget. So I applaud the young writers who actually care about writing and reporting facts from an objective lense. I hope even the ones hoping to land a TV gig understand that they should probably learn how to write at some point, too.
5. You just tweeted, "Former infielder and World Series champion Joe Panik is back in the #SFGiants organization as a special assistant in player development, per the club's media guide." And I ask, sincerely and respectfully, do you give a shit about stuff like that? Why/why not?: My life doesn’t change with Joe Panik back in the Giants organization, but it’s a story. The Giants recently sent out their media guide and I was skimming through it. I typically enjoy trying to find some names that I recognize that are either in the front office somewhere or coaching in the lower levels of the minors. When I saw Panik’s name, I noticed nobody had mentioned it. For as random as Panik is, he was a fan favorite to a lot of baseball fans in the Bay Area and the amount of interactions and engagement the tweet got goes to show. Now, I don’t tweet stuff for engagement. I tweet it to inform people –– that’s how I see it. If the tweet does well, it’s an added bonus. I’m still young and trying to get my name out there.
A random old article worth revisiting …
For my money, Steve Rushin remains the most talented writer I’ve worked with. He’s a guy who treats words the way one might a long stick of licorice—he bends, twists, curves, dips, dives. It was remarkable to behold as a Sports Illustrated colleague, and remains so all these years later, sorting through the magazine’s archives. This piece, from March 13, 2006, is—as always—brilliant.
This week’s college writer you should follow on Twitter …
Henry Morgan, University of Wisconsin Milwaukee
A journalism and global studies major at UWM, Morgan recently covered Paul Ryan’s visit to campus for a talk—and he did so with admirable professionalism. Morgan' hits all the right notes in this piece, and does so in a relaxed, fluid style. Were one to read FORMER HOUSE SPEAKER PAUL RYAN CAUTIONS GOP IN TALK AT UWM: ‘WE’RE GOING TO LOSE WITH TRUMP’” in the New York Times or Wall Street Journal, it’d fit in perfectly.
Writes Morgan …
One can follow Henry Morgan on Twitter here. Bravo, kid …
Jim Murray speaks with …
A new feature to the Pearlman Journalism Substack—thanks to the warped geniuses at Chat GPT, we can sorta kinda see what would happen if Jim Murray, the late/legendary Los Angeles Times columnist, sat down with three random celebrities. This week, here’s what GPT offers from Jim’s meeting with Olympic gymnast Mary Lou Retton, Papa Smurf and a man who only screams I LOVE ICE CREAM AND DOGS!
Setting: A roundtable discussion in a TV studio.
Jim Murray: Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for joining me today. I'm Jim Murray, and I'm thrilled to be joined by Papa Smurf, Mary Lou Retton, and... sir, could you please introduce yourself?
Man: I LOVE ICE CREAM AND DOGS!
Jim Murray: Okay, thank you for that. Moving on, Papa Smurf, as a leader of the Smurfs, can you tell us about your philosophy on leadership?
Papa Smurf: Of course. I believe that true leadership involves setting an example and guiding others with wisdom and compassion. It's about putting the needs of others before your own and inspiring them to be the best they can be.
Mary Lou Retton: I agree with that. As an athlete, I always tried to lead by example and inspire others to push themselves to be their best.
Man: I LOVE ICE CREAM AND DOGS!
Jim Murray: Sir, please, we're trying to have a serious discussion here.
Papa Smurf: I think it's important to remember that everyone has their own unique perspective and experiences. Even if we don't agree with someone, we should still listen and try to understand where they're coming from.
Mary Lou Retton: That's a great point, Papa Smurf. It's important to keep an open mind and be willing to learn from others.
Man: I LOVE ICE CREAM AND DOGS!
Jim Murray: Okay, that's enough. Can we please focus on the discussion at hand? Mary Lou, you're a legendary gymnast. Can you tell us about your experience as an athlete?
Mary Lou Retton: Sure. Being an athlete is about more than just physical ability. It's about discipline, dedication, and perseverance. It's about setting goals and working hard to achieve them.
Papa Smurf: I think that's a great attitude to have. We all have something to learn from athletes like Mary Lou.
Man: I LOVE ICE CREAM AND DOGS!
Jim Murray: Sir, please leave if you cannot contribute to the discussion. I'm sorry about that, Mary Lou and Papa Smurf. Thank you for joining me today and sharing your perspectives and experiences.
Random journalism musings for the week …
Musing 1: This is quite a piece from the New York Times’ Charles Homans, headlined, THE MAGA-FICATION OF NORTH IDAHO COLLEGE. Tremendous reporting, digging, working through multiple sides of a complex and hostile situation. The power of inqusitivness prevails, as always.
Musing 2: I’m from Putnam County, N.Y.—a charming-yet-jarringly racist neck of the MAGA woods where to be anything but white and Christian and conservative comes with complications. But don’t take my word for it—this piece, TIK-TOK VIDEOS THREATENING BLACK STUDENTS HAVE CARMEL PARENTS ON EDGE, DISTRICT PROMISING CHANGE from Lohud’s Diana Dombrowski paints an ugly story of a town filled with hate and officials terrified to do shit.
Musing 3: Hands-down, my favorite follow on Twitter is @karilakewarroom, the most 2023 account out there. Though I have no idea who, exactly, runs the war room, I suspect it’s a 17-year-old intern who gets paid in M&Ms, Make American Great Again caps and time alone to masturbate to Kari photos in the war room bathroom. The takes always lead to one grand conclusion: Kari was robbed, send her money, she’ll be back and the libs better watch out! Woo-hoo!
Musing 4: I’m a bit late to this, but Amsterdam News adding Helina Selemon as a science reporter for the Blacklight Investigative Unit is quite a grab. Selemon, if you don’t know, did some outstanding work for the Associated Press.
Musing 5: In case you don’t think we’re broken, Tucker Carlson convincing, oh, hundreds of thousands of Americans that: A. Really, the election was rigged and B. What you saw on Jan. 6—all those MAGA hat-wearing people overtaking the U.S. Capitol—didn’t happen … is equal parts sad and chilling. I’ve asked this of other “journalists,” and I ask it of Carlson: When did fame become this important?
Musing 6: The wife and I participated in last weekend’s Tucson Festival of Books, and we dug every … single … moment (well, save the signings). For me, it wasn’t merely a chance to reunite with colleague/pals like Tyler Kepner and Howard Bryant and Jemele Hill and Pat Wiedenkeller and David Maraniss. Nope, it was a chance to lather in the love of reading. Again—awesomeness all around.
Musing 7: If you’re any sort of baker, Anne Byrn’s Between the Layers is the Substack for you. Anne and I worked together at The Tennessean way back when, and her posts are equal parts entertaining and informative. Earlier this week she celebrated the 100th birthday of the Snickerdoodle, and the entry was absolute bliss. Writes Anne: “Early Snickerdoodles were just butter cookies. But the quirky name was the appeal. John Mariani says in The Dictionary of American Food & Drink that this nonsense word implied the cookie was quick to make or that it was made from a little of this and a little of that—a pantry cookie. And where in America it was born is still up for grabs, but the most mentions come from Pennsylvania and the Midwest, wherever there are Mennonite and Amish baking communities. Indiana embraces the Snickerdoodle as its own, and Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley is said to have loved them. On his birthday—October 7 —Snickerdoodles are baked at the historic James Whitcomb Riley home in Indianapolis as a remembrance.”
Musing 8: What’s happened to Sports Illustrated sucks, but Tom Veruducci remains one of America’s great sports writers. Check this out.
Musing 9: Earlier today a UC San Diego student and member of the university’s Costco club ate an entire Costco rotisserie chicken before hundreds of his peers. I swear I’m not making this up. And it was oddly entertaining.
Musing 10: The New Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Kaitlyn McGrath, the Toronto Blue Jays’ beat writer for The Athletic. Lots of great insights on surviving Spring Training.
Quote of the week …
"Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs."
Enter: Lee Greenwood music.
Andrew was my high school classmate. I am unsure why his sister attended. But I’ve always remembered the kindness—even if I can’t recall her first name.
Musing #2 is horrible. These kids are learning it from somewhere.
Your Kari Lake war room riff made me think of a great campaign slogan for her next campaign: "Vote Kari Lake: She won't lose. Again"