Fri., Feb 1, early evening

It's raining in NY, but I wouldn't know it except for a brief lunch at the deli across the street. Otherwise, it's been the Hilton "House of Flourescents & Bad Carpet" all the time. Exciting moment when the fire alarm went off. Official voice during the beeping: "I am the fire marshal. We have a report of an alarm, and are currently investigating the cause. We will tell you as soon as we have more information." Took about five minutes to be told it was, to use the phrase literally for once, a false alarm.






















(Above, Laura begins the day freshly, in her fancy new wardrobe and dynamite scarf. Soon 8 hours of standing and talking will reduce her look of optomistic delight rather significantly--see below for what happened to Marty.)





















(Above, breaking news, Marty Riker of Dalkey Archive is a Zombie.)
















(Above, Laura with Mei Mei Berssenbrugge.)





















(Above, my first time meeting of Joyelle McSweeney of Action Books, charming as expected.)















(Above: How do you get a bunch of poets at a conference of poets to congregate in one place? Wesleyan Press is kitty-corner to our booth, and their answer was Jean Valentine. At least 15 people were lined up to buy her book and get it signed--pretty impressive showing in a place like this.)





















(Above, the book I'm currently most desiring at the show, also at the Wesleyan booth. Here's my plan: I'm hoping they drop one on the floor, thus dinging the spine, thus realizing they have to give it away, thus looking around for a candidate, and there I'll be across the way--)

















(Above, we already have a winner for Best Name at the AWP. I checked, it's her given name. O, 1960s, you shall live on in your anti-establishment naming habits.)