Portland was incredible.

We’re about to get on a plane and head back to Los Angeles, the City Where Dreams are Raped™. So I thought I’d throw a few pics of the Powell’s signing up for your perusal, and I’ll try to get back to regular posts sometime today.

There was also an after party that got out of hand, or so I’m told. I’ve been looking at the photos people have been posting, and some of it rings a bell. I’ll sift through it all when I get home and see if anything is fit to post. I imagine those pics will be on the Facebook page.

Thank you Portland, for an incredible time. I really can’t remember having so much fun and being loved up quite so hard. It was overwhelming, and I am very grateful.

WHAT I DID AT POWELL’S CITY OF BOOKS

I wore jewelry. Two of my favorite Etsy handcrafts pictured here; the Fuckery necklace by Morphologica, and the hideous Obama-morphed-into-Bob-Marley dreamcatcher earrings that weigh about 16 pounds. I could have worn ear bolts by the time I took them out.

I read from the book at the most whimsicle podium on earth. I like to imagine Tom Brokaw stood here, reading about World War II and trying not to look like a Keebler Elf.

I signed books. LOTS of books. Someone said they waited in line for over an hour, which was amazing. I wouldn’t wait that long to get a book signed, but then, I don’t know how to to read.

I also signed this book; a blank journal signed by every author who has appeared at Powell’s. That was really exciting. I thought the book might burst into flames when I touched it, just from the sacrilege of it all. But then I saw Moby signed it too, and I didn’t feel so bad.

I took pictures. And John took pictures of people taking pictures.

I saw hats.

I wore hats and took pictures. This gentleman asked me to wear his orange cap for a picture, and I did. I made a joke about Cal Trans, but then I remembered I was in Oregon, and no one laughed.

I saw dead people. This gentlemen is wearing a T-shirt featuring the artwork from the famous “how many licks” Tootsie Pop commercial. I thought it was intentional, but he didn’t even know: my father was the voice of the owl in this commercial. And it was the day before Father’s Day, and just a few days from the 5th anniversary of my dad’s death. So it was a little weird. But not as weird as this:

I saw fuckery. These two women organized a Regretsy-themed bike ride for Pedalpalooza. The woman with the panti-liner bookmark is wearing a tie skirt, and the one on the right is wearing a vegan fish in a squirrel suit on her bike helmet (an homage to URL).

I got presents. It’s hard to see in this shot, but this woman gave me a pin she made from some very filthy text cut out of an erotic novel (here’s her store).

I also got this, which might be one of the greatest presents ever; a recreation of this classic Regretsy posting.

And tucked in the bag is a vintage 45 recording by “Fat Bob, The Singing Plumber”, which I still can’t believe is mine. But it is, so step off.

I looked in the window on the way out. And there I am, right under Christopher Hitchens. Which is not something I ever thought I’d say.

More later! Right now I have to pay Alaska Airlines to take my suitcase home.

Thanks again to everyone who made this possible – most especially Diana, who asked Powell’s to have me in the first place, and who, along with Kevin, wrote press releases and pimped this fuckery all over town.

xxx