I finished the book about public toilets and their cultural/societal/architectural impacts (it's called "toilet", it has a shiny gold cover, and you should read it now). I reread "raise high the roof beam, carpenters", which I'd swiped from the laundry room last week; it reminded me of "no exit" with more mid-word syllable emphases and greater kindness- but it didn't totally rock my world like all-things-Salinger did when I was 15. that's why I haven't reread "catcher in the rye" since then- I don't want to suddenly realize I hate it. I started "American Voyeur", nonfiction vignettes about specific pockets of our society: teenagers who give indiscriminate blow jobs but are like totally still virgins, members of NAMBLA, fraternities that are banning alcohol use, homeless gay teenagers in the Castro... it's very good so far.
and I'm about eight (admittedly tedious) chapters into yet another laundry-room gem, one I HAVEN'T read before but feel like I should, you know, for sociological musings: jackie collins' "Hollywood Wives."
YEAH.
a random-page sampling: "Elaine frowned and thought about her own love life. Ross hadn't ventured near her in months. bastard. just because HE didn't feel in the mood."
and I reread "mrs bridge", Evan Connell. it's still fucking great.
I have been reading outside. I have freckles on my fingers.
-the trusty steed.
-beauty school dropout!
-the ladies.
-tombs, infusing the henhouse with some straight-up sexy.
-those summer ni-ights.
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