If you're in the Boston area, may I suggest the following afternoon readings:

on Sunday, at 2PM, J. Robert Lennon is reading at Newtonville Books. John is a fantastic writer, with as varied a bibliography as you can imagine. Here is a review by Andrew Sean Greer that should convince you. Sadly, I can't go.

(Which brings me to this question: why does everyone harp on how, "Hopefully, I can go," is an incorrect use of a modifying adverb, but nobody cares about "sadly" used the same way? Or maybe they do. Maybe it's only my mother who so hates hopefully.)

Then: the wonderful and inspiring poet Gail Mazur is reading Monday at 3:30 at the Radcliffe Gym, in the Radcliffe Yard, in Harvard Square. You can hear her read a poem here.

And: I am reading at 4PM on Wednesday the 8th at UMass Boston, in the Harbor Gallery, which is in the McCormack Building.

So I was talking the other day to a novelist somewhat younger than me--an excellent fellow and writer, by the way--and he asked me when my current novel was set.

"The 1970s," I said.

"Oh!" he said. "Have you done a lot of research?"

I didn't know how to answer that. Finally I said, "I was alive during the 70s."

"I was alive for part of them," he said. "I was born in 1974."

"I was born in 1966," I said.

He looked a bit shocked, and then said, "I'd love to know the name of your moisturizer."

**

I may well do some research, but it's not one of those, "And then I opened the fridge, which was avocado. My brother said, 'Let's go to the movies! I want to see--what's it called? Star Wars?'" kind of 1970s novels.

Years ago, in my library career, I served a short stint as a part-time audio-visual librarian. This was after I'd retired as Circulation Desk Chief--I quit to write full time, and then my old library director called me up to offer me a part-time job with partial benefits, and I put down my lonely glass of white zinfandel--this was a very long time ago--and accepted.

My favorite AV reference question ever came from an 12-year-old boy who'd recently emigrated from, I think, Russia. He said, "Do you know this song, Achy Breaky Heart?" And then he sang a little of it, and I sang a little bit of it, and I found him the relevant CD.

(My second favorite: the 12-year-old boy who asked whether we had any adult movies. "They're all adult," I said. "The kids' videos are in the children's room."

"No," he said, waggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. "I mean, ADULT movies.

So I spanked him and revoked his borrowing privileges.)

Anyhow: those experiences pale next to one of the best things I've seen on the internet in a long time.

First of all, if you don't read Antonia at Whoopee, you should. She is a great and hilarious writer.

But it's the her most recent post that has knocked my socks off. It's proof that you can satisfy nearly any curiosity on the internet--and in this case, it has nothing to do with the perfect search query/search engine, just musical talent and good brains.

I am obviously not particularly bloggish. I have been dipping my toe into Twitter, though, so if you somehow have ended up here, you might look for me there. (See sidebar.)

There's an interview with my at Exhale Magazine this month.

Meanwhile, I am writing fiction and wondering what it means that most of my male characters have mustaches.