I don't know how to do this other than as a sprawling, messy, off-in-all-directions thing. I can't do book reviews like Emily, who has her own little New York Times thingy going on at Edge of the Page . I remember this one professor I had for a few courses -- he was French, and big and bearish with spiky black hair and a beard, and it always seemed to me that he carried this towering body of knowledge around right on top of his head, and all he had to do was reach up and pluck out a few facts and an allusion or two, and there was another fucking brilliant off-the-cuff insight. In contrast, I always felt like I had a much smaller body of knowledge, and it was all tucked away in my pockets or left on my dresser at home, so I was always saying something like "well, it's like the goat in the desert and... wait!... something about Flaubert and feet, or everybody dreaming about Zeus and then walking funny..." I guess there's a good reason why I ended up writing abou...
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I had a friend in college who was not happy that she was set up with this guy for a dance, so she pretended she had to go to the bathroom (they were having a few cocktails before the dance in our dorm) and she came and hid in our room. The other dates came and asked us if she was in our room and we played dumb - easy enough. It was slightly mean, I guess. But she could not stand the guy. We laughed our butts off. Oh to be young. That is as close as I get to being sneaky back in the dating arena. Go Eve!
XO