Not a poetry reading, not a lecture, not stand-up; yet sort of all three, and better than all three. To say that my face hurt from laughing so hard (it did) would diminish the power, the intellect, and the erudition that I heard last night at the Modjeska. He talked for three hours on innumerable topics. This angry punk guy, "fake-ass actor boy," and publisher was so handsome, charming, self-deprecating, and so damn smart that I wanted to be schooled enough to have a conversation with him. Or Thanksgiving dinner.
My mom would love him.

I'll stop gushing now.
I gotta go read a book.