(This post is written by Books Intern Anna Minard.)

Last night, a group of local musicians performed songs in response to The Princess Bride. Paul wasn't kidding about Bushwick Book Club being a good time. I'm also hesitant to talk it up because it's lovely just as it is, and I'll be sad if it gets so popular that it doesn't feel like it did last night: like all your funniest and most creative friends are having a party/show in someone's basement. The set list, drawn from a hat at the beginning of the show, turned out to be perfect, alternating between different kinds of music and not torturing performers with a now-I-have-to-follow-that-guy moment. The sweet and serious songs were as enjoyable as the funny ones, the musicians seemed to be loving it as much as the audience, and moods were high all around.

The sheer breadth of styles and interpretations and commentary was probably the best part. There was Inigo-inspired Spanish guitar, a costumed Humperdinck doing spoken word, a song with a bird whistle solo in the middle, more than one truly excellent woman on piano, a belted-out chorus of “Aaaaaas youuuu wiiiiish,” and some spectacular duets—an acoustic guitar and upright bass duo with a charming love song, and a blindingly awesome rap battle between the man in black and Vizzini, (sample lyric: “Ha! You only think that!/You bested my giant, so clearly I can't drink that”). You can probably find the acts on YouTube, but it's not really the same. Next time, just be there. They'll be doing The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Just like any book club, you should try to actually read the book beforehand, but if you can't, you can always be the lady who drinks a bottle of red wine and spends the whole time complaining about her kids. I mean, no, don't actually do that. But you can still be a drunk lady and just enjoy the show.

So thanks, Bushwick Book Club, for making me love my city with your totally joyful and deliciously nerdy music-making, and reminding us of all the incredible talent wandering around the city (or crap-driving, or falling down, or calling in sick because, aaaaack, snow!) on this winter day.

P.S. If you are wondering whether there was a song called “My Name Is Inigo Montoya, You Killed My Father, Prepare To Die,” the answer is no, and I was a little sad. But maybe that's just too easy, and no one seemed like they wanted to go for what was expected.