If I had the chance to meet and have a beer with any living literary figure, I'd choose Tom Robbins (on an acid trip). Though he wasn't on an acid trip and I didn't so much get to have a beer with him as much as have one in his proximity, last night was nonetheless amazing.

He was celebrating the publication of his new book, B is for Beer, at the Brooklyn Brewery. (I'm taking note: when you get to his status, you apparently get to call your publicist a  Beer Wench.) He read an intriguing story that concluded  with security extracting things (and people) such as Amelia Earhart, the Great American Novel, Middle-Class Morality, a banana and so much more from an anal orifice. My orifice doesn't hold a candle to that.

Anyway, I gave him a copy of my book (and two of his own to sign). This is what Tom Robbins is saying about Thanks for Coming:

"What a topic," he said. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to read that." 

If that's not a blurb meant to sell millions, then I don't know what is.