Because I had an unusually action-packed weekend, I never got to read the Sunday Times Book Review. I may not get to it till later this week. I have a fraught love/hate relationship with that rag. Mostly I hate it. But I can't seem to live without it, which has to do with the dearth of good sources for news of new books, a topic I plan to write about here soon. I've ranted about the NYTB more than once to my friend the novelist and teacher
Meredith Sue Willis, rants that she's once or twice seen fit to include in her monthly newsletter
Books for Readers.
As to my action-packed weekend, the highlight was the amazingly wonderful 20th anniversary party that our friends Anya and Ignacio threw for my lover Teresa and me. They remade the
Solidarity Center in Manhattan into a glittery, gorgeous, romantic party room and everyone had a grand old time.
DJ Imani Henry kept us dancing for many hours past my usual bedtime. A memorable night. Then on Sunday we headed to Jackson Heights for the
Dia de la Raza demonstration for immigrant rights, after which a bunch of folks had dinner together at Viva Zapata! restaurant. Delicious food and a decor punctuated with photos of
Zapata,
Villa and other heroes of the Mexican revolution. Zapata's stirring exhortation that "it is better to
die on your feet than to live on your knees" is one of Teresa's favorite inspirational quotes.
Notwithstanding the virtues of uprightness, once we got home and crashed on the couch to watch a movie, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was in bed and asleep by 9 p.m.
I am aware that I have yet to compose any cogent posts about the ostensible topic of this blog, red reading. I've set myself a deadline for doing so. The end of October. Or bust.
