My Brush with Greatness

So last night I was at this restaurant with Dean. It’s near his apartment, and we go there a lot. And next to us is a couple, clearly on their first date. And then an older woman enters and goes up to a man I’ve just noticed — he’s sitting parallel to me on the banquette, so I can't really see him. She leans over to say something to him and I think, “How nice. Two old folk on a blind date, we’re all on dates here...”

But instead of sitting next to the man, this older woman then goes to another table by herself and starts reading a magazine. It’s then that what she said to him finally registers with me. It was, “Are you Philip Roth?”

Unfortunately I hadn’t heard his response, so I nudge Dean and ask him if he thinks the oldish man with graying dark hair is Philip Roth and we both surreptitiously sneak a look. We’re pretty sure it's him, and then we're really sure a few minutes later, when he's joined by a very pretty, very young woman.

Holiday, Schmoliday

This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.


I mean, it's Thanksgiving and I love them, but years of therapy have only confirmed Larkin's conclusion.

I'm just sayin'.

!@#$

I just found out that Kate Atkinson, one of my very favorite writers ever, read from her new book One Good Turn last night at Barnes & Noble. Last night! I am an idiot! I can't believe I missed it. !@#$ is really all I can say.