True, The Tattered Cover bookstore of the time was in a suburb and across the street from an upscale mall, but that shit was my jam. The crime section? Nah. The history books or those on critical thought? No way. The art section? Now you're talking. Did you know your average bookstore's art section has got some righteous nude photography books? Well I found out. And Tattered Cover is where I became familiar with the difference between Playboy and Penthouse. Yes, I was in to books and culture finally.
It would be two moves out of state later before I found what I really, really liked by way of books, but there was a Colorado tie then too. I read Daniel Woodrell's Give Us a Kiss, Ken Bruen's Rilke On Black and James Ellroy's White Jazz and kicked all my funny-mysteries to the curb. Then I found Murdaland magazine (the first issue boasted Woodrell and Bruen's names on the front cover) and fuuuuuck yes, this, this was exactly it.
All to say. I had a blast at N@B the other night. Good readings and even better to catch up with folks like Michael Lion, and meet new ones like CJ Howell and Neil Krolicki. Hope I have another chance to return soon. I even enjoyed the flight and a thought occurred to me halfway through my in-flight read and my third complimentary Dewars on the rocks: Hashtag by Eryk Pruitt is like the best book ever.
Also: Mario Acevedo is a funny motherfucker.
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