Sat., Feb 2nd, evening

GOODBYE, AWP:

No doubt this will only only be further proof of how odd I am, but to me the most fascinating moment of these shows comes right at the end. One minute everything is all bright & neat & polished, and the atmosphere is one of leisurely browsing, sampling of candies, and casual chatting about the subtle pleasures of these refined arts. Then in a matter of maybe ten minutes there's a massive set change: curtains come down, tape guns start making that peculiar ripping sound, burly union workers come riding out on mini-forklifts from behind collapsible walls and start yelling at people, packing peanuts & abandoned catalogs are thrown in all directions, and the people working the booth stop suppressing their exhaustion and deep desire to go home. It's not uncommon to hear whoops of various kinds as the end of the show is announced.






































Then, Jet Blue took us home. No reading about Zukofsky this time, my brain could only take TV now. I watched, back to back, seven episodes of Ace of Cakes on the Food Network. Sheesh.

The last award goes to Nick Robinson, husband o' Laura, for picking her and me up at the SF airport at nearly midnight (that'd be 3AM east coast time). Let's call it MOST RELIABLE WHEN YOU REALLY, REALLY NEED IT:






















Brent