i can't remember the last few books that i've read that i thought were really good. maybe rebel angels, by davies. okay, actually i do. waugh's handful of dust. a re-reading of franny and zooey. some of barbara gowdy's stuff and a short story in each of mcsweeney's latest and the new yorker. but i just read a book that made me cry! like actual human tears. i waited, however like 599 pages for it but it was totally unexpected and it was neat that this arrangement of consonants and vowels could evoke this. it's a really good book. i really like this book. a lot of other people like this book too. a pulitzer prize finalist. hey - my friend S-man just called. He's studying jazz trumpet (but switched to classical, he just told me) in New York and in grade school he used to imitate my voice (which used to be squealingly high) and was crazy about Wynton Marsalis and if i remember, met him too. and he says that there's a pizza place in london (eastown?) that makes literally, the best pizza in the world. hmmmmm. now london is good for two things, not just one: pumpkin ice cream and pizza.

wow - i'll be back in london in exactly one week. kinda don't want to go back. kinda reminds of one weekend in first year undergrad when i just decided to go home and come back to st. hilda's on the morning of classes, instead of sunday night. and my south wing friends were afraid i'd decided to just not ever come back...(maybe because of some occurrences with "St. C", but i think it's not wise to chronicle our adventures together cause she's still amongst the living)...

and now i will exit.