Okay, I've finished a great novel -- The Emporer's Children by Claire Massud -- and I am still looking for another great one. I picked up Elmore Leonard's Mr. Paradise at JFK on the way to London because he's great for some downtime and I like those trade paperbacks. But where is my next great book?
I have Lay of the Land by Richard Ford and that looks promising. Picked it up in London and iot has one of those fabric bookmarks. So classy and sa doamned annoying. I don't know what to do with the thing! I could cut it off but hey, that's not nice. I ordered an old copy of Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream by paleocon John Derbyshire. I like the Derb's comments on The Corner of the National Review web site and this is supposed to be a charming little book, but we'll see.
In the mean time, the object of my lust is this: A new MacBook. There's a program at work that allows you to buy one at a discount and a few dollars are taken out of each paycheck to pay it off. Way cool. All I see when I look at this baby are the novels I want to write, the podcasts and songs to record for my fan base, and the videos to shoot and edit. See? I am not even a Mac owner and I'm already insufferable.
