While I try to stick to the general theme of this blog (the general being the ownership of the personal) and (godwilling) offer a few laughs at the expense of my neuroses and half-cocked opinions, I’m not trying to fool you about what’s really going on here: any blog (let alone that of a writer) is just a marketing scheme to further a bigger cause (in this case said writer’s moderately paced writing career).

So now that I’ve cleared the air, let me remove the facade for just a moment to shamelessly plug myself. 

I’ll be reading at the Freerange Nonfiction Series at Cornelia St. Cafe (29 Cornelia St., Greenwich Village, NY) on Wednesday, Oct.6 at 6 p.m. (Heavier baggage included, i.e. bad sex, dead mothers, poorly hidden insecurities.)

I’ve also recently had a few pieces published here (on “so-called” feminist art) and here (on the awkwardness of my butt-rock-loving adolescence).  

Okay, I’m done. Thanks for indulging me as always.