This Glitterati Life

 

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It’s still High Promo Season, and so I’m out flogging The Dragons of Babel every chance I get. Last Friday I did a reading for Philly Fantastic, the local monthly series currently being held in the Center City Barnes and Noble. There was a snowstorm that day and the turnout was light, so instead of adapting a chapter of the novel, I read a shorter piece, “The Scarecrow’s Boy,” which I’d originally written for Boskone.

Afterwards, as is traditional for Philly Fantastic, everybody went out to dinner together. After various small adventures, we wound up at the Pen and Pencil Club, a private club for journalists and their friends.

Now, when you think of a club — of a Philadelphia club in particular, because this is an old, old club town — you probably think brandy snifters, butlers, and leather armchairs. Not so for the Pen and Pencil. It serves a scruffier, more ink-stained ilk. Note the sign above. It reads:

NO CREDIT CARDS
NO BUD
NO RED BULL

I think I’ve found my home.

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