Let's see, other than being utterly boring and overpriced, the lines last night at the annual Atlanta Press Club's Holiday Author Party were longest for Mike Luckovich. Everybody likes Mike! And what's not to like? The dude wears vintage suits, is unfailing polite to the old folks, has beautiful manners, is wicked funny-clever. Won a Pulitzer if you don't believe me. Best of all, he blogs. (Well kinda sorta. It is, after all, a fake AJC blog.) Still, enough to make you swoon, for chrissake.
Mike is adorable-precious too, but no-go ladies as he's very married to a gorgeous blond. Little one at home, stuff like that. But, if you were toiling away over your Perfect Guy hot cauldron, as I've been known to do when the broom's in the shoppe, you probably would cook-up a potion that would deliver to your doorstep Mr. Luckovich. One of the best APC events I've ever been to was one where Luckovich and his French (also adorable, bien sur) counterpart from Le Monde led an overhead projected, draw-off "discussion." Priceless it was, ummm hummm.
Another book that sold-out while I was there was for this interesting title, The Race Beat. I'll add that one to the nightstand pile to eyeball longingly as I crash from the usual mommy-exhaustion. Lots of Christmas shopping accomplished though, and even ran into an old radio comedy show ensemble co-writer pal, Walter Sorrells, a veritable writing machine if ever there was. Walter remarked that he'd cranked-out ten books this year alone. My repy, "I wrote ten blog entries this year."
Still, was it worth the $20 cover and the $7 gin-and-tonic? Hard to say. Although there was a funny moment when Tom Hauk's name badge somehow got tangled in Maria Saporta's gorgeous tresses. Was hoping to run into yet more Southern writer pals, but writers are so notoriously narcissistic that they won't come the the annual event unless they have their own book to sign that year. Me, on the other hand, I've never gotten close to writing a book, let alone publishing one, so I go every year.