Under the gun

We’re kind of running behind today–way behind. Blame the Film Festival, visiting friends, and the all-too-close proximity to some seriously unhealthy obsessions (this time, not ours). So there may be a super-long essay later today, but chances are that’ll be delayed till tomorrow. In the meantime:

Chicha goes pro! Yes, the lovely talent responsible for the Cup of Chicha blog has found herself a choice new gig just as she’s settled into her New York City digs. Go check out Galleycat–it rocks already.

Oline Cogdill isn’t much of a fan of the new Patricia Cornwell either. Although honestly, I wonder if reading this for review isn’t a bit like self-abuse. (In other words, I passed on it, mostly because, well, lots of other folks would give the book the time of day, and there are plenty of other ones more deserving of ink.)

If Harvey Weinstein walks from Disney, as is pretty much expected, what will that mean for Miramax Books? Maybe they’ll hire Tina Brown to take it over then? Oh, wait…..

Frank Delaney picks his top 10 Irish novels, and after simply reading this list, we want a drink. And it’s not even noon yet.

Looks like John Mortimer wasn’t satisfied to write the Rumpole stories–he fathered a child out of wedlock 40 years ago.

Fiona at the Crime Fiction Dossier explains why all this Booker business is puzzling the hell out of her. Ditto–I’m sick and tired of this too. Overexposure? I’ll say so. I mean what’s next, they’ll announce the super-longlist in July? Sigh….

For those who don’t have plans, and even for those with plans, you are required to go to the next edition of the Cupcake Reading Series tomorrow night. I mean, look at some of the lineup notables: Maud, Chicha, Emma Fold Drop, and the unholy trinity of Maccers, Eurotrash and Elizabeth. Since I can’t be there, heckle ’em all in my honor, will ya?

And finally, this book sounds like just the kind of pick-me-up we, who are still day-jobless, will need.