Stan doing what he does best…touching lives.
So it’s that time of year again where we head up the Stan Chambers Delivery Unit, whereby we leave our batcave [braving sunshine and fresh air] to drive to Los Angeles – aka God’s Left Armpit – so we could pick up Stan and get him over to the LA Times Festival of Books to sign books and make nice with the crowds who never fail to materialize whenever he shows up. While he patiently wrote his John Handcock and posed with the throngs who wanted their picture taken with him, Mr. Moneypants and I cruised the festival.
Well, ok, that’s not exactly true. We ate lunch and met up with the ever-talented, effervescent Lauren Roberts, the queen and brains behind BiblioBuffet. But afterward, we fought our way through crowds all focused on one thing – BOOKS. Every year we go, I always have the same thought – for those who think the written word is gasping on its last legs is smoking some tabaccy laced with crack.
The place was packed. Jammed. Booths were five people deep, waiting in line just to enter some booths so they could see the latest and greatest. I saw so many people holding books to their chests as if they were precious cargo that it made this cranky editor’s evil lip quiver mightily.
And the kids! Oh how bloody marvelous to see the love of books being passed on to the wee bairns, as they jumped up and down screaming, “Can I have them both, Mommy?” Oh, happy sigh.
We’re off to do the same thing tomorrow as well since we’re still the Stan Chambers Delivery Unit. Good thing Mr. Moneypants doesn’t mind driving all the way from S. Orange County up to God’s Left Armpit. If the driving duties were left to me, I’d be in Kentucky, swearing up a blue streak.
The beagle was rather put out we didn’t take her, but I told her she was still on time out for shredding new author Chris Baughman’s manuscript.
*hah, JK, Chris.