In Which I Get an Autograph

I Have about 5 minutes before I have to leave for orchestra. In my infinite wisdom, I somehow signed myself up to play with 2 community orchestras, one of whom practices an hour away. Ooops. I like both, although I am suffering from a surfeit of Mozart at the moment.

I went to the National Book Festival yesterday. If anyone believes the publishing industry is in danger, and that Americans do not read, they need to attend. There were well over ten thousand people there, all to hear famous authors speak and read excerpts from their books. John Grisham, Judy Blume, Mark Kurlansky, and John Scieszka were there. I stood in line for almost 2 hours to get my copy of The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales autographed by Mr. Scieszka. He was only signing for an hour, but people started lining up very early, almost as soon as the festival opened. But I got it signed, and Mr. Scieszka was smiling and greeting every single person in line and thanking them for attending. I am definitely planning on going next year if I can.

In Which My Suspicions are Confirmed

I suspected all year that I live in a redneck suburb of Washington. That was confirmed yesterday when I tried to go for a walk. I started to cross the street to get to the neighborhood where I usually do my circuit, and I watched car after car after Volkswagen Bug go past. Then I noticed the big lightbulb-lit sign up the road: DRAG RACE TODAY ---- PARKING ON RIGHT.
I also noticed the two police cars and policemen in the middle of the road directing traffic.

Are you picturing this? I live in a suburb that has enough people attending a drag race to require a police presence!!!!! The last time there were that many police on that street, Obama was speaking at a pre-election rally in October. Drag races are equivalent with presidential nominees in this town. Maybe I should just give up, buy a pick-up truck, and change my name to Betty Sue.