Started reading Richard Price's Lush Life. I'm only a few pages in and I'm indifferent so far, but I have near-complete faith that I'll be into it by the end, because that's always my reaction to Price novels--it takes me a while to get into them but then I develop much admiration. I never think the slang-heavy dialogue is as precise/natural as reviewers seem to, but at a certain point in all the novels the characters hit a threshold of complexity and the narrative becomes sturdy enough to stand and walk on its own and I'm entirely there. Clockers is my favorite so far but I have high hopes for Lush Life and am particularly interested because while I read Clockers, Samaritan, and some of the early novels in the relative haven of New Haven, Lush Life takes place on the LES and I recognize everything he mentions.
Began writing a new short story this weekend; the working title is "black Dodge Charger story," and no, I haven't developed a sudden interest in vintage automobiles. Sent Midnight Picnic to Impetus and to two friends. One of them was the first so far to have an unqualified positive reaction, so all the editing I've done since January has been good, or maybe she's insane. Ned and his fiancee brought me obscure brands of ginger ale from New Hampshire. I had dinner with Erin last night and sat outside the restaurant for almost twenty minutes waiting for her while she sat inside at a table, having arrived minutes before me. Never leave a woman waiting at a table in a restaurant; it's bad and you will feel like an ass. Saw John Reed read at KGB--excellent. Watched much of Season 3 of The Wire; mixed feelings but Idris Elba and Jamie Hector are great. Wandered about. Met someone I liked. Wrote out a lot of notes. I still can't sleep before 4 a.m.