At 6:22 p.m., a B Street resident called to report harassment from a friend. The woman said she went to breakfast with a man who then took her home to meet his wife. The wife was not home when she and the person arrived. The man then asked her if she wanted something to eat, which she thought was strange because they just ate. Police advised her that there was no criminal activity. She responded that she thought the person was being a bad friend and wanted to end the friendship.
Maybe she would have felt better if he'd asked her to give him a blow job.
It was still pretty funny.
Especially the shrooms in Vegas scene.
Which was really, really funny.
I love Paul Rudd.
Better not to think about politics or plausibility.
D couldn't decide which campaign sponsored it: Brownback, Rudy, or Hillary.
It was occasionally slow. And predictable.
But it was funny.
And I love Paul Rudd.
(In other news, I got a new phone, which was kind of traumatizing, though I'm getting used to it, except that the front screen stays dark except when it's open, so you need to open it to see if you have messages, which is kind of a drag. S got the same phone as me, so I put glitter flower stickers on mine, which is so unlike me--not the glitter flowers, but putting stickers on my phone. M got S's old phone. She is super-excited and has already changed all the settings, covered it with stickers, and sent me a text with a smiley face. I didn't know you could send texts with smiley faces.)
Blindsided by a Diaper
Nevertheless (you needed a paragraph break there, didn't you?), I am oddly intrigued by the subtitle, which is, of course, the same old anthology subtitle in its Number-Noun of Identity-"Reveal" [though this one, thank goodness, omits "the truth"]-Topic format [though, thank goodness again, this one does not formulate its topic as a string of Additional Nouns]. But what is interesting here is that the number is "Over 30" which makes me wonder if this is a book about thirtysomething Nouns of Identity ("Men and Women," in this case) or if there are in fact 31, or perhaps 32, essays in the book, in which case who on earth thought "Over 30" was a good idea?
Parents, Kids, and Networking Sites
The Glass House
A book about the differences in each of us; A woman rescues defective stuffed animals in this tail of family, unity, and love.
(M and I debated whether "tail" was purposeful. We think perhaps it is. But maybe not.)
Jonathan Lethem and Ian McEwan
Among the encompassing definitions we could give “the novel” (“a mirror walking down a road,” “a narrative of a certain size with something wrong with it”) is this: a novel is a vast heap of sentences, like stones, arranged on a beach of time. The reader may parse the stones of a novel singly or crunch them in bunches underfoot in his eagerness to cross. These choices generate tension: in my eagerness to learn “what happens,” might I miss something occurring at the level of the sentence? Some experience this as a delicious agony, others distrust it. Our appetite for Ian McEwan's form of mastery is a measure of our pleasure in fiction’s parallax impact on our reading brains: his narratives hurry us feverishly forward, desperate for the revelation of (imaginary) secrets, and yet his sentences stop us cold to savor the air of another human being’s (imaginary) consciousness.