I love Camus’s general philosophy (of the absurd), and this book is basically a dramatization of it. Reading an essay on the topic is probably more productive than reading this book, however… because this particular book sort of sucks. Each character seems to represent a take on the absurd, which is sort of fun, but also sort of lame. There are long winding passages of text that are completely abstract, and then he tries to tell me that he’s removed all embellishments from the narration. I found myself frequently flipping forward a couple pages saying “blah blah blah”.

Karen ordered this by relating to the waiter “Last time I was here there was one sake that translated to mean nothing and another sake that translated to mean something” and then the topic of Mu came up (which people say means nothing but actually means “neither yes nor no”, and which was the first sake), and then the topic changed to crazy ninjas and hot heels, and finally the waiter said, “Onikoroshi! Demon Slayer!” and we rejoiced. Also, Walter doesn’t know the difference between a vampire and a mummy.

Beats radishes and carrots.

God doesn’t speak to me; Miranda does. ))<>((

I look forward to the day after Halloween more than any other day in the holidays, simply because that is when places begin to sell eggnog lattes. Who can resist the sugary sweet goodness with nutmeg on top? Not I.

Just finished the first season last night and I think that last episode was pretty much perfect television.

Every time I try to describe to someone why I like this show, it doesn’t work. Watch, I’ll do it again. It’s about a high school girl who’s the daughter of a private detective. The father was once the sheriff, but got fired due to mishandling the murder case of Veronica’s best friend. Dun dun DUN! It’s sort of like Bring It On meets Twin Peaks and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I strongly dislike television, but this I like because in some weird way I feel like I am Veronica Mars.

The Squid and the Whale have a lot of similarities to The Royal Tenenbaums.

I am taking a short break from this book.

For a book that poses to be a 300 line poem and a 300 page critique of that poem, this book is about as thrilling as they come.

The mind of a murderer has never been more convincingly portrayed.