…well…

…Okay, listen, I’m not going to get all fanboyish or anything. But after the talk I was downstairs in one of the galleries at the Morgan, which was at the time showing something like Rembrandt’s or Goya’s drawings. The gallery I was in, I was in alone — until one other person came in. I sort of glanced in that person’s direction, as one does, and it hit me that the person was a woman, a tall woman. And then I remembered that this woman had asked a question at the end of Sendak’s talk, and that in his reply he referred to her as “my friend in the back” (which made all the rest of us turn around to see who it was, of course)… and then I froze, solid.

I was in a small room, surrounded by great works of art, alone with Sigourney Weaver.

I wanna say, I about passed out on the spot. The Missus (ironic eyebrows and all) has long gotten used to my infatuation with Ms. Weaver. But in any case, I have come to think of this not as “the time I saw heard Maurice Sendak speak,” but “the time I saw Sigourney Weaver from, like, ten freaking feet away.”

So much for my pretenses to be, like, all literary and stuff.

And few of the books I got for them were anything remotely like the books we’d gotten as kids. They had those kinds of books already, or picked ‘em out themselves. I liked getting the sly subversive titles. :)

My husband doesn’t like Sendak’s drawing and so has never gotten to the stories. But I’ve bought several of them anyway.

My wild thing is on my book shelf watching over the living room. Makes me happy.