Among the things accomplished today: this box, containing approximately 4,000 “Fear and Yoga in New Jersey” bookmarks, went out from my house to East Brunswick, NJ, where they will be shipped to just about every independent bookstore in the country. Four bookmarks for each.
As it turned out, I had to drop the box at the local UPS store, but there was one frantic moment, around 3 pm, when I was sure Big Brown would be ringing by doorbell before I’d uncovered our household supply of packing tape. I was looking in the cubby over the basement stairs where we usually keep it, and things like paint cans and lint brushes kept falling down.
At the same moment, Tony Orbach was returning a phone call about a crossword puzzle I’m commissioning him to write and Tom Biro was calling me to discuss Baristanet’s myriad technology issues. I literally had a phone in each hand like Cary Grant in “His Girl Friday.” This, I guess, is why real grown-up people have assistants. To find the shipping tape and deal with UPS and manage the calls. Luckily Noah came in from school at that exact moment and agreed to go out on his bike, in the rain, and fetch some tape from the post office. So I guess real grown-ups have assistants. I have child labor.
A crazy day. Besides writing Baristanet, I sent out 909 e-mails to my nearest and dearest, doing my best Obama direct marketing impression, imploring them to join the movement by buying my book this week. Only one jerk (who will remain nameless) lit into me for the audacity of my “audacity of hope” message.
Dear Ms. Galant:
Your entreaty to buy just may have been the most graceless ever. And then I read, not the first chapter, but the first sentence of the first chapter. That’ll do it for me. And please: Don’t solicit me again. Ever. Remove my email address from whatever auto-send you’ve got.
Most people, however, were phenomenally generous, some linking me to their blogs, others sending me their Amazon receipts, telling me how much they’d loved “Rattled,” and many more forwarding my e-mail on.