SNYDERMANIA: BOOK AND A TACO

Sunday, August 30, 2015

BOOK AND A TACO

THE AUGUST 29th HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES? BOOK AND A TACO BOOK LAUNCH WITH TY LUSK AT GUEDO'S

The book launch was a smashing success, the biggest ever. Some 200 reader friends, family members, colleagues, and former students showed for their signed copy of HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES? and a free Guedo's taco and an afternoon of TY LUSK style entertainment.

I'm hoping HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES propels me to fame and fortune, but I'd be happy with the bowels of the middle class...

Here I am discussing book and taco strategies with Guedo.

Susan Halberg is my favorite college professor because THE EIGHT FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON is required reading for her English 101 class. Big Halberg fan over here.

Photo bomber Bryan Frank took this gorgeous shots.

You might recognize the guy in the beard from the back cover of HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES?

This bearded character is also on the back cover. Chelsea, Nick and Gabe (previous pic) are members of SKELETAL SECRETS, a much beloved heavy metal band.

Guedo's tacos.

Media.

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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?