Don't be fooled by the empty chairs. This room was actually quite full.

This week, I was invited to speak at the first annual Philadelphia Food & Beverage Forum, held at Philadelphia Community College. Please note my fancy vest and “finger-held-to-head-deep-in-thought” pose.

I love giving talks like this, especially when I’m joined by wonderful people. In this case, the panel was moderated by Audrey Julienne, a former writer of mine and a fantastic freelance PR agent, and sitting next to me was Felicia D’Ambrosio, current community manager for Philadelphia’s Yelp, and a former writer for Citypaper’s MealTicket, a local food blog I absolutely adore.

The panel was one of the highest attended events at the Forum, which certainly fed my already enormous ego. The entire panel and I spoke about social media and how local restaurants could take advantage of tools like Twitter and Foursquare, and properly utilize websites like Facebook and Yelp, in promoting their respective establishments.

Signs @ the Panel: Event Listing, Panel Members, and... Hoodz?

All in all, I think it went well. And I was surprised by the panel’s sponsor… Hoodz, a kitchen exhaust cleaning service with a hilarious name. I could not confirm whether or not the business was named after South Central Cartel’s hit album Tha Hoodz In Us… but it’s probably a safe bet they picked the name for other reasons.

Alright, I’d love to say something cute like “Omigod, I had no idea anyone was filming me!” But alas, I’m a vain fool, and insisted that one of my friends video my reading last week.

Not only did I get these two awesome videos (thanks Scott!), but there is another one (thanks Dan!) on the way, as well as these handful of photos from my coworker Nichole! Win!

For the reading, I read the first six pages from chapter one, and a selection from later on in the chapter, edited heavily for time and context of course. The first reading went over well, the material slightly more serious than the second selection, though still riddled with jokes. You can check out the video to that reading, here on Vimeo.

I was thrilled to get so many laughs in response to my second piece. I embedded that video below.

The reading was incredibly well attended, and the other writers that the Mad Poets Society selected were fantastic. It was really an honor to share the podium with so many talented people, and to know that the reading raised over $200 in donations for a wonderful local charity.

I’d like to thank all of my friends and coworkers who came out to support that night. The 30+ of you really inspired me, and certainly helped boost my confidence while sharing my work. Several of you drove straight into the city from a long day at the office, others had to deal with a long trip back home from Center City.

Love all of you for taking the time out of your day to come out and make my day even more special.

Postcards mean your book is actually coming out. It’s true. A huge thank you to Timmy Q for the awesome design, and for dealing with my constant badgering. If any of you want a few, drop me a line!

This Thursday I’m giving my first reading from Textual Healing at the University of Pennsylvania’s bookstore. I’m pretty excited, and I’m thrilled that the Mad Poets Society here in Philly have invited me to participate in their reading series. My alma mater, Arcadia University, even mentioned the reading in their bulletin. Neat!

I’m also thrilled that so many of my friends and colleagues are coming out to this event. I’m planning to read the first ten pages from the novel… since that’s the only way I can read something without explaining what happened before.

Few things annoy me more at a reading, than when an author gives 5 minutes of back-story because their selection is from the middle of a book. Not gonna be that guy! Expect a video to be posted sometime next week.

Finishing my move on Wednesday, reading on Thursday, BBQ on Friday, BBQ in Fishtown on Saturday, Fourth of July on Sunday… I’m officially nominating this the best week of Summer. Ever.

Okay, but seriously.

Back in May, I was one of the first people to get their hands on the new Gillette ProGlide razor. Gillette teamed up with Geekadelphia to do a big ol’ giveaway, and we dished out over 600 razors to our faithful readers on the Internets. The giveaway was incredibly popular, and launched a number of hilarious tweets between us and Gillette. These ones with Mikey Il were particularly great. [ Part I ] [ Part II ]

As a result, GQ reached out and interviewed me and a handful of other bloggers who had the same opportunity. It’s on Page 20 of the July 2010 issue, in an article about the Art of Shaving.

Pretty neat!

Anyhow, I’ve posted a photo of the quote after the jump. Have a look, and read about how I started shaving in 5th grade. That’s right, fifth grade. I have no shame, kids. Click the little plus sign for more.

Life is funny.

When my neighbors, Zach and Brooke, announced they’d be moving out to Pittsburgh, I was pretty heartbroken. They’d been living downstairs for nearly a year and we’d become great friends, constantly BBQing in their lovely backyard, swapping books, sipping Woodchuck Cider, and playing video games. At a time when I thought my life was falling apart, Zach was always on hand for some Gears of War, Brooke with a cider and a smile.

I was always pretty envious of their gorgeous apartment, especially after Zach painted it and spruced up the backyard. So, shortly after they said they were moving, after I asked them why a million times and lamented their leaving… I told them I wanted to take over their lease.

As a favor to my landlord, I offered to list my apartment on Craigslist, and find someone to take over my lease. This would be no easy task, however. There was the slightly angled bathtub, which dips and collects water, and the tilted stove, from which many-a-pan has slid from, clattering to the floor. A few folks came by, many of whom were dissuaded by the broken washing machine, the hole in the living room near the window, the dirt permanently varnished to the living room floor…

Then she walked in.

She talked about watching Caprica on Hulu, liked Battlestar Galactica, and thought my vintage BSG belt buckle (thank you Amanda) was awesome. A few days later, we started chatting in Gmail and began spending time together, quickly becoming fast friends. She made fun of my choice of drinks and we cooed at kittens together at the petshop on 20th and Chestnut, whilst on our way to get Capogiro. We frolicked at local flea markets and I introduced her, successfully, to the joys of Hellboy. She told me stories about her days practicing ballet and how she was now a genetic engineer, her history likening to that of a SyFy television movie character.

We kissed for the first time while watching Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog.

And this week, she signed the lease for my apartment. I move downstairs next weekend. People have met in stranger ways, I’m sure.

The girl I’m crazy about is going to be living one floor above me. People have told both of us what a ridiculous idea this is, seeing one another and living so close. But whatever. Life is too short. I’m throwing caution to the wind, and I couldn’t be happier. She straight up destroyed me in Scrabble. I never stood a chance.

Almost every single day, I walk by Rittenhouse Pet Supply, a cute little shop on 20th and Chestnut. They don’t have a lot of bunny supplies, and nothing for chinchillas… but they do have baby kittens in their window. That’s one of them right there, who was promptly adopted out later in the week.

I’ve always had a soft spot for kittens and cats, especially after living with Jordan and Tess, whose kittens adored my rabbit.

So after talking to various good friends who work with PAWS and the PSPCA (what’s up Jon and Jill) I’ve decided to start fostering kittens. What with moving into my new, two floor apartment this month, I’ll have plenty of room.

The PSPCA already called my landlord, and approved. Onto the next steps, which do not include telling them my plan to dump boxes of kittens all over myself whenever I’m feeling sad.

The other day I talked about giving away books to my students. Why I do it and where I manage to get so many. And whilst the giant box in my room overflows with novels, poetry, and plays, there is one book that I collected at a past flea market that sits on my shelf. One book I cannot bring myself to giveaway, and not because it sells for a lot on Amazon. This is the story, of Mr. Nice.

There’s a certain character you expect to see selling wares at flea markets. Maybe they own a million cats. Maybe they’re creepy and sell old World War II memorabilia. Maybe they smell like old curtains and mothballs. Whatever the case, you certainly don’t expect to see a six foot tall, muscly, model-type with long, flowing Fabio-esque blonde hair and an Australian accent, selling grappling hooks, skis, snowshoes, and other adventuring gear on a folding aluminum table.

The Adventurer, as I’ll call him in this story, had a large number of books, ranging from popular pieces of fiction to fantastic travel narratives. I bought them all, packing them into my canvas bags. When I said thank you and started to gather my things, he abruptly stopped me, and insisted that I take a beaten up paperback with me.

“Trust me mate,” the Adventurer said, “this book is well traveled. It’s… it’s got a lot of soul.” He tossed me the book, its pages flapping wildly through the air before I caught it, snapping it shut.

I looked at him quizzically. “A lot of soul?” I looked down at the book, it didn’t seem like anything special. “What do you mean?”

“Back when I lived in Australia, I bought that book,” he began, promptly ignoring all the other customers gathering around his table. “I was heading to England on vacation, and read some of it on the plane ride there. Read a little more while in London, and eventually, I finished the book on the flight back home. Sold it at a used bookshop outside of Melbourne, the same one I bought it from before I left.”

Again, I flashed him a confused look. “Sold it?”

He nodded. “Fast forward three years, and I’m walking past a cafe downtown. I spot this beautiful woman. She’s reading Mr. Nice, and I figured this would be my way in. My icebreaker. I go over, we talk, and then I see something… my name, written on the front cover. It was the same book I had sold back to the used bookshop, three years ago!”

“No way!” I exclaimed, flipping the book over. Sure enough, there was his name, scribbled in fading marker.

“So we get to talking,” he continued, “and we have so much in common. She loves the outdoors, rock climbing, etc. She’s from Philadelphia, on vacation in Australia. We spend almost her whole vacation together. We fall in love. Months later, I pack my things, and I move here for her. We get married. All because of that little book there.” With this, he points at the book, which I’m still holding.

“What an amazing story!” I said, beaming and practically shouting. This was the sort of thing you only heard in the movies, or in some quirky, romantic comedy. I looked back at the book, the cover creased, pages bent and dogeared. Well traveled indeed. “But,” I began, “but why would you get rid of something so precious?”

“Ah,” he said casually, “we’re getting divorced. I’m moving back to Australia.”

…

As much as I’d like to give this book away to one of my students, or maybe make some money off it on Amazon, I can’t do it. Every time I see it on my shelf, I think of the Adventurer, back in Australia, and I wonder if he’s okay, nursing his broken heart. There’s a movie coming out soon, based on Mr. Nice. Has he seen the posters? The IMDB site?

How will he handle it? How does anyone handle a recurring, painfully memory? You can’t kill all the memories, you can only make new ones. As much as you might want to, you can’t give away everything.

Hold it together, Adventurer, where ever you are, for all of us Mr. Nices out there. If I can make it, I know you can too.

Every Saturday morning, I start my day off with a slightly strange routine. I hop on my iPhone, load up Craigslist, and search for flea markets and sidewalk sales. Yes, this sounds like a highly unusual ritual for a guy in his late 20’s living in a big city, but there’s a reason.

During my undergrad, I spent most of my time working a terrible retail job to pay for school, transportation to my horrible internship-from-hell in NYC, and when I could afford it… books. While in New York City, I’d visit The Strand, and when I was at my job at the local mall, I’d dig through the bargain bins at the Borders outlet store on my lunch break. With the pressures of school, family life, and the future stampeding towards me, reading kept me sane. Diving into classics and reading obscure pieces of clearance fiction (consequently, I found one of my favorite novels in a dollar bin), really helped me hold it all together.

I promised myself that if I ever got out of this rut, if things turned out the way I planned, I’d do my best to make sure my future students, whoever they were, would be able to find some peace the same way I did. Through books.

So every Saturday, I write down the most promising-looking sidewalk sales, grab a bundle of canvas totebags, and hit the streets early. I fill these sacks up with all kinds of books, from poetry anthologies to popular fiction, non-fiction historical epics to mass market paperbacks… anything that will get my students reading. I’ll spend $20 or so every weekend, come home with two dozen books, and dump them in a large box in the corner of my bedroom.

Come Tuesdays and Thursdays, the first 20 to 30 minutes of class involve me giving handfuls of books away. Sometimes the students are excited about the books, especially when I have something popular. Other times, it’s like a silent auction, not a soul raising their hand for a Shakespeare play or the third copy of Dante’s Inferno I’ve brought in that month. If anyone so much as scratches their nose, they get stuck with the book. They’ll whine and roll their eyes, but I know they will appreciate it later down the line.

Because who knows. For every student that complains when they get a copy of The Canterbury Tales or an Ernest Hemingway collection, there’s a student who was probably just as stressed and terrified about life as I was. Maybe they’ll open up whatever book I threw to them from across the room, and find a similar, calming feeling.

Today’s Friday. Tomorrow’s a brand new day for rummaging. Wish me luck.

This weekend, the folks behind Philadelphia’s Pecha Kucha, a show-and-tell event that takes place every other month or so, invited me out to Studio 34 in West Philadelphia to talk about my book-in-progress, The Whiskey Road.

The event was fantastic, with over a hundred attendees in the audience. I felt my talk went over well, despite a few flat jokes and the hype of being presented as an ever-present force for Philly geekdom, writer, new media empire mogul, and “creepy mask guy” by Jon McEuen. Creepy mask guy? What is he talking abou… oh. That’s right.

I’d like to thank everyone who came out, and congratulate three pals of mine, Dustin Johnson (an illustrator / Geekadelphia contributor), Sara Selepouchin (Girls Can Tell), and Danya Henninger for their truly outstanding presentations.

Thanks for shooting the video, Shaune & Dennis! And thanks for having me, Pecha Kucha!

Because I have good friends who refuse to let me.

On April 1st, Geekadelphia hosted a huge bash at North Bowl in Northern Liberties. Thanks to Ford and the Fiesta Movement, a mural went up on 11th and South Street here in Philadelphia, showing off our favorite “geeky” hangouts, including Indy Hall, National Mechanics, and Tattooed Mom.

I had to miss the incredibly well attended (300 people!) party to work on my whiskey book, but my friends made sure I was there, in spirit.

Dan, one of the frequent contributors on Geekadelphia, printed up a bunch of Eric Smith Heads (TM) and stuck them on sticks. The whole Geekadelphia crew, as well as several of my friends, thought up and planned out this adorable scheme, and didn’t tell me.

Instead, they surprised me whilst I was driving to Pittsburgh, with a number of Twitter updates and Twitpics, featuring my head on a stick.

I’m proud of the blog, sure. The traffic, the occasional perks, and the attention it gets. However it’s the community that surrounds the site, and the people who work on it with me, that mean the most to me.

Posted some of my favorite photos after the jump. I just wanted to thank everyone publicly for this gesture. It meant a lot to me!

Geekadelphia Mural & Launch Party
www.flickr.com/photos/mikeyil/sets/72157623606546217
www.flickr.com/photos/visualsense/sets/72157623637157203