St John is a freelance writer, historian, and ornamental hermit. He spends his weekends reading terrible books and shouting at kids to get off his lawn.
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Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it.
As for your neighbors, have you tried sending them sexually suggestive gingerbread men in the mail? I am hard-pressed to think of anything that would delight me more than receiving erotic cookies from an anonymous source.
Aw, sorry to hear you won't be joining us in SF, but I'm sure you'll be happier somewhere you don't flush half your money down the toilet on rent every month. Still, you are morally and contractually obliged to come out for a drink whenever you're in town. You signed in blood and broken glass — it can never be undone.
I was foolish enough to let mk and thenewgreen order drinks and we wound up with a round of PBR & Js. Thanks so much to these guys for the best night out — you couldn't ask for friendlier, livelier company.
We have to do this again. Just get a cab next time so your car doesn't get broken into. Did you get back all right?
North Beach is always a great area for dinner/drinks if you like Italian. Or we could grab some Chinese in Chinatown. I'm pretty easy, though, so if you have a hankering for Neptunian squid larvae or sheep's head stew just let me know.
Happy Tutankhamun Day! I had no idea it was November 26. About this time last year I read a fantastic book about the origin of mummy myths, and it laid the blame for the mythology surrounding Tutankhamun's tomb squarely at Lord Carnarvon's feet. It wasn't that he died soon after the tomb was opened (though he did). It was that he'd struck up an exclusive coverage deal with one newspaper. That meant all the rest of the world's media were desperate for material, so when Carnarvon kicked the bucket they all ran the curse story because they had nothing else to print.