Each week I listen to a number of podcasts (which ones?). I do my listening as I walk the mean streets of Montréal, trolling for a funky café to sit and read in, or write, or watch people, or scald the roof of my mouth with a chai latté. As I wander, I scowl at people and antisocially listen to my iRiver which has been lovingly prepped up with said podcasts.

On my regular listening roster, there isn’t normally a lot of humour — most of my podcasts are to do with writing, writers, Spain or Spanish (still haven’t found any podcasts on spanners). But today one of those “boring writing podcasts” had me chortling out loud and smiling like a lunatic as I strolled and dodged around harried mothers pushing strollers and hairy old men grumbling at harried mothers pushing strollers.

What was so funny (besides all that hair and strolling)? It was a rare Bookcast from Powells.com. Most of the episode (starting from about four and a half minutes in) featured writer John Hodgman — who I had not heard of before — presenting the areas of his expertise, live. And unlike many authors doing readings, he was a great performer. It’s hilarious, give it a listen. But that’s just my opinion, and I love all things made-up. Well, almost all things — I’m not so big on Kiss.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006 at 19h48 and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.