So, you're in London. You love the Beatles. You take a Tube ride out the St. John's Wood. What else are you going to do when you see that crosswalk?
Hmm, looks like my new job has been keeping me from posting. But a lovely 2-week vacation to "Old Europe" has given me a chance to actually read some books.
First of all, I have come to completely and utterly adore the writing and general tender-tough pose of Anthony Bourdain. So I spent the last couple of weeks tearing through Kitchen Confidential, The Nasty Bits and A Cook's Tour. I have to say that I probably enjoyed the writing most in The Nasty Bits--it's a more recent compilation--but KC is a really, really cool book. I'll throw some quotes in here later, but for one thing, his books make me want to see farflung places and things. And they make me glad that he's out there representing us Americans.
But the more earth-shattering event was that I've finally read Phillip Roth. My friend Peter has been haranguing me for months to do so, and the appearance of Everyman on the shelf of the WH Smith in the Eurostar Terminal in London seemed to be all the harbinger I needed. I don't know where or when I had decided that my life was rich enough without Mr. Roth's writings, but god was I wrong. Full of bleak, funny, sexy, spot-on observations, it's a tiny little morsel of a book that has more life in its scant 150 pages than most "great" novels have in three times the length.