Don't ask what he does with the monocle and foppish cane
Adam Ross made a pitstop at the Mysterious Bookshop in Tribeca to put his throbbing, generously proportioned Hancock in a few sultry books.
I wasn’t there as it wasn’t a reading, but more of a “stop in and sign a few books for the owners” sort of thing. To get my insult, I begged and pleaded and finally left the store with promises that I’d get my book signed, “Bill + Insult.”
Actually, it required no begging and pleading whatsoever. Whoever it is working down there — I believe his name is Sean? — is extraordinarily nice. But don’t bother them over the phone; they’re not as charming and seem to get tired of people asking about their upcoming signed books.
Instead, stop in. Buy a few books. Then ask about getting a book personalized. They’re good people and’ve put up with all kinds of bullshit from the Idiot Brigade down there to shit on the under-construction MUSLIN MOSKE, which is right around the corner. So I can understand their limited tolerance for stupid.
Great bookstore for anything mysterious. Go now.
Mr. Peanut, by the by, has been a darling of the book-reading media. Check out the NY Times review, if you don’t mind mild spoilers and (mostly) glowing praise. Supposedly it’s a bit hard to follow at points, but I have a hunch that, like with DFW’s infinite, it’ll be much easier and more enlightening on the second read.
Until we meet again, Adam Ross. I’ll be watching for a Mr. Peanut with lust on his mind, hate in his heart, and a sixer of roofied wine coolers in his hand.
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