A friend came to lunch and brought copies of the New York Review of Books and The London ditto. What fun! Paging through them kinda reminded me of back when I was first introduced to The Whole Earth Catalog--so much information out there and all within my reach!
Well, theoretically in my reach. There's no way I could read even a tiny percentage of all the books that look interesting to me. (Cuban ballet! Werewolves in the ancient world! A guide to the Florida Keys!' A history of humanity!)
I was pleased to find a review of Matrix which I talked about a few days ago. (The reviewer had a lot of nits to pick with the novel--things that didn't bother me when I read it.)
I must admit though that I really love reading the personals. Whether it's a slim (they're almost always slim) NYC f seeking a m social worker to share affection or a successful retired exec looking for someone to share his waterfront lifestyle or a pair of unrepentant queers (one pansexual Asian punk femme and one curly-haired nonbinary flaneur) seeking a third, my imagination is challenged. Are these people really slim? Really successful?
Not to mention the international rentals. An apartment in an antique palazzo in Florence, a 17th century courtyard apartment in Paris's Marais district . . .I'm not looking for a change in my situation, let me hasten to add. But it's fun to imagine other lives.
