I'll still be there, in the flesh, signing pen in hand. I'll probably read a bit, shake some babies, kiss some hands. And after the festivities are done, anyone who cares to lift a drink with me can migrate to Sketch (101 Broadway) where we'll sip a few cocktails and have ourselves a fine party, partly as a going-away kind of thing, partly just because it's Wednesday. None of that has changed, either.
What has changed is that, due to a shipping error that was neither my fault nor the fault of the bookseller, we're going to have an extremely limited number of books on hand. Limited, as in: I could count them on one hand without using my thumbs. Which means that if you're looking to pick up a copy, you should either get there early or be prepared to fight, Thunderdome-style, for what I believe might be the last few copies currently available in the city of Denver, since they appear to be sold out everywhere else we've looked.
This is not the worst thing in the world, though. We will have those few books for sale. At the event, the store will be taking orders for books that should be arriving in a few days, hot off the presses in Manhattan (or China or North Korea or wherever it is books are printed these days). And in the meantime, I'll be signing whatever's offered to me -- book plates, bar napkins, boobs, what-have-you.
Got a copy of Cooking Dirty that you picked up somewhere else? I'll be happy to scribble something naughty in it for you. Got a copy of something by Michael Pollan or Frank Bruni? Hell, I'll sign those, too. Frankly, I don't see why a lack of actual books needs to put a crimp in a book-signing, anyhow.
And I hope to see every damn one of you at the bar afterward as well.
