Amen for Amy Tan, recipient of Litquake's third Barbary Coast Award

Amy Tan and Minor Miracle Bombo

In the last few days I've been called a blogger, an enthusiast, a reporter, an ambitious worker, and even a joyful, generous soul. You have told me you read my articles, whatever we call them. Thank you, all. I am officially ambitious, though I have no ambition. I love literature and culture. The Examiner has been kind enough to put these two things together for me, and you have been kind enough to embrace that.

To write a report on the roasting of Amy Tan when I know so little about her and about the place she "embodies" would be much of the same. I can only assume you read my daily writings here because it's not official, PC, "more of the same." As Joshua Citrak would say, "good for you."

I've overheard some people say "as if Amy doesn't get enough attention." I don't know anything about that. I just moved here. I just met her. Her friends and champion 'roasters' described her tonight as an "appalling, inappropriate, obscene, rowdy, god-forsaken, dark-side longing, courageous, funny, and trouble-making philanthropist who turned down an invitation from the GW White House, who is self-conscious and uninhibited and open-hearted while being a generous tasteful insanely delightful traveler with a patience that could turn paint dry in an instant, who is paranoid and prepared and terrifying, mercurial, who wraps her hotel TV remotes in plastic bags before touching them and carries a portable toilet and a gas mask at all times, can shop in any language, is extraordinary, interesting - the embodiment of San Francisco! She was accused of being an opera buff, a frustrated painter, a dog-lover. She advised Zheng Cao to always dress like a diva and never act like one. She made Andrew Sean Greer gay and say "Amen for Amy!" Something about Khaled Hosseini - I don't know, I was too busy thinking about the entire theatre standing up in unison and saying: "We want to be Amy's bitches."

Capital Transportation

I add: charming, porcelain, staid, deserving, majestic. I haven't been here. But I ask: does the giant oak get too much attention? The redwood - is it tiresome to keep looking up there? "Oh, I'm tired of wonder. Awe bores me." Say this, or think it, and we have nothing in common.

I'll ride the train and close my eyes and think: "Think what you will" and smile. I'll keep my eyes open for Amy. So if you see me and you look at me and I smile, I smile for myself, but I see you for Amy ...

Details, pictures. I invite complaints: "O Evan didn't cover the event, he experienced it. This is just his impression." You're right, but I don't apologize.

Did you think I climbed Armistead Maupin's "golden mountain" to send out impersonal postcards? Am I to step away from the microphone because I'm scared to follow form?

Hey mister, miss. What you want is not literature or culture but substance. It presents itself in infinite forms and eludes you whenever you name it. Call me whatever you will.

I saw Roger McGuinn beside Amy Tan tonight; I spoke with a room full of published people who know my name. I respect anyone with a published book (almost). Is everyone here published? That's only reason to love the place more; takes nothing away from books. Litquake grew up tonight right in front of our eyes. Sure, I've only seen a ten year old through the first half of her birthday party. But as the day goes on she's becoming more confident. Closer to ten now than nine. Maybe it's like this every year, I think. But then again, did the old girl just wink?

Me and Pascal Horn

Tomorrow's going to be great. I met David Henry Sterry last month and he's a gentle uproar. I was also at supperclub recently and it is a neat and sexy and just hip place to be. Erotic writers reading their work to an open public lounging on Roman-style beds with low energy LED lighting that changes from pale neon blue to lavendar to blood orange? Umm, yes please. I'm familiar with Stephen Elliott's book My Girlfriend Comes to the City (and want to read The Adderall Diaries) and look forward to seeing him. I haven't been disappointed with anyone yet, and I don't think supperclub's the scene where that's going to happen.

Details: 5-8 PM | 657 Harrison Street | 415 348 0900 | $10 suggested donation at door | 21+

Sarah Vowell is reading at The Booksmith, the Contemporary Jewish Museum is hosting a tribute exhibit to Maurice Sendak and children's literature, and Litquake's annual sharing of original, common-themed short stories tackles the topic of "Survival of the Fittest." James Ellroy will be in the Castro for an inconceivably free event. Click here for details on all these events.

Oh, but the Literary Death Match is tomorrow. I don't have to tell you about it. Read this.