Lines of freeze-dried

When I get too far gone from lack of sleep, I hoover up a couple of lines of freeze-dried and everything's alright.

Of course, if you're more inclined to just yawn through the sleepless interim so as to maintain some semblance of homeostasis in the heart, then here's what I suggest. Hurry on down to McNally Robinson Booksellers this Monday (March 17) and check out the latest in a series of readings for the insomnia anthology "AWAKE! A Reader for the Sleepless."

On hand at this extra-special event will be three anthology contributors who you won't want to miss. First, "the Great White Herring" himself, fisticuffs-friendly performance artist and author Jonathan Ames, will be intoning in ponderous tones his epic struggle to get back to sleep through assiduous use of his right, then left hand on his insomnia-ridden penis.

Second, Molly Kottemann, Yale biologist and researcher of all things living, will take us down the scientific rabbit's hole at the other end of the microscope's mirrored lens, proving once and for all that those left-brained docs can be just as creative as we right-brained artistes. Or, at the very least, that Ms. K. is possessed of two brains, a right and left, cerebrally ambidextrous as it were, G-d bless her.

Third on the bill is champion blogger and critic Ed Champion, a webbery-fingered sort who will spin audiovisual madness on par with an internet Spiderman. Feel his power and presence and be awed.

Oh yes, your friendly neighborhood JewPunk will also be on hand, dispensing sleepless wisdom and anecdotes as the E=Emcee Squared of this print-matter-filled starry night.

In other news, check out the following blog for an interview I gave to my new favorite writer and email-buddy, "Three Fallen Women" author Amy Guth. Amy is just the sort of person you'd like to be interviewed by in the Dick-Cavett-landscape of your mind. She's smart, funny, perceptive and convivial. And, best of all, she makes you sound even better than you are.

Dare I admit that I've developed something of a 24-hour crush on her? She's just the thing the pulsing river of trouble-tossed restlessness ordered, a veritable RIP (Rest In Peace) Van Winkle of the old days brought up to the present in the form of books carried home from school and pigtails gently tugged on field trips.

I hear the strains of that White Stripes song in my head, the one that borders on cloying yet is all the more impressive for risking and impressively avoiding that. "I be-lieve that we are gon-na be friends."

On that note, I return to the freeze-dried breakdown lane to park my tired carcass between the manic lines of freeze-frame memory.

See you all at McNally Robinson Monday!

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