SNYDERMANIA: Sep 9, 2012

Sunday, September 9, 2012

BUY THIS BOOK!

Would you buy a collection of mostly true, pretty funny stories about growing up in 1970s Southern California from this man?

You can join the 364 people who have by clicking on this link:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-William-Snyder/dp/1468142585

If you're in the metropolitan Phoenix area, you can pick up a copy of The Eight-Fingered Criminal's son at Papa Joe's Barber Shop or Chandler Auto and Tire. You gotta ask yourself how many people on the planet ever have the chance to get a book and a haircut or book and an oil change? The answer is darned few, baby!

The flash read camapign with Dickey "Tom Jones" Imburgia continues with two flash reads scheduled for next Saturday, September 15th.

If you're in So Cal, the Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son Cheese Whiz Event is scheduled for October 6th at The Book Frog in Rolling Hills.

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NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?