Bourbon Cowboy

The adventures of an urbane bar-hopping transplant to New York.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I'm a storyteller in the New York area who is a regular on NPR's "This American Life" and at shows around the city. Moved to New York in 2006 and am working on selling a memoir of my years as a greeting card writer, and (as a personal, noncommercial obsession) a nonfiction book called "How to Love God Without Being a Jerk." My agent is Adam Chromy at Artists and Artisans. If you came here after hearing about my book on "This American Life" and Googling my name, the "How to Love God" book itself isn't in print yet, and may not even see print in its current form (I'm focusing on humorous memoir), but here's a sample I've posted in case you're curious anyway: Sample How To Love God Introduction, Pt. 1 of 3. Or just look through the archives for September 18, 2007.) The book you should be expecting is the greeting card book, about which more information is pending. Keep checking back!

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Speaking of Bad Late-Night Ideas . . .

Two posts ago I mentioned that I'd had a great idea at night that turned out to suck when I re-read it the following morning. By chance, I ran across this quote in the frontispiece to Bill Bryson's Neither Here Nor There:

William James describes a man who got the experience from laughing-gas; whenever he was under its influence, he knew the secret of the universe, but when he came to, he had forgotten it. At last, with immense effort, he wrote down the secret before the vision had faded. When completely recovered, he rushed to see what he had written. It was "A smell of petroleum prevails throughout."

For this quote, Bryson cites Bertrand Russell's A History of Western Philosophy. Which means that, by quoting this, I'm quoting Bill Bryson's quote of Bertrand Russell's quote of William James's quote of some anonymous nitrous addict. This Russian-doll moment has been brought to you by the Kevin Bacon game.

By the way, it took me fourteen minutes to write this thing because the goddamn computer seized up nine times---once for tw(dammit, that's ten!)o whole minutes.


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