Got a haircut (grimmest barbershop conversation ever on the theme of childhood injuries and food-borne illness), and went to St Marks Book Shop to pass the time before the 6:30 meeting. Standing in front of the new books face-out at the front of the store, I bumped into mighty Nick; we talked a good twenty minutes about blogs, stats, the summer readership slump, Ron's comment that readers go away when poetry appears, books, moving, and so on. Nick mentioned his fascination and association with Smithson (back when the work and the criticism were appearing); he noticed that it was Smithson's lively (some might say combative) criticism that drew him all the attention. He mentioned also that this was a lesson L=A=N=G... magazine applied when they were considering folding up -- dividing the pages between the work and talking about the work. I pointed to Ben's Simulcast, and about at that moment, Stephen Wright walked into the store. I slowly caused Nick to rotate and look at Wright's scraggly presentation-of-self, which was mainly turned away, and as casually and quietly as possible, I quoted the line Ron quoted about reading the dictionary. thinking it was a poem about everything. Many were noticing and smiling, and everybody seemed to remember how to act. Wright drifted over to the section against the left wall past the new books (music? g/l?) and I made my excuses with Nick and went back to the poetry section, where I restrained myself to one book: Naomi Shihab Nye's well-received Mint Snowball. A good meeting, then to Other Music where I couldn't find the Juana Molina and therefore left without spending money, and then to Two Boots for a slice. And now, up early; very pink sunrise.