Abby and I are back from the land of eating disorders, hooray! While there, I read part of a book by a French dude; I cannot remember the title or the author. It was about a self-obsessed guy with a complicated and boring revenge fantasy about a bottle of wine and one of Sophie Calle's birthday parties. Okay, from I just learned the title and author from the Wikipedia entry, but I don't want to start this entry over. That's his picture though. I like pictures of people smoking. I left the book accidentally on-purpose in my friend's apartment. I bought it because it had a shiny gold cover.
It was warm there. I like the ocean a lot. I am still pale.
6 comments:
The Mystery Guest! I love that book.
For realsies? I thought it was booooring. But you win the challenge.
I've purchased this book several times and left it at several apartments of people who no longer speak to me but who, I assume, will call, one day, years from now, to invite me to be a guest at a mysterious birthday party.
I don't think people should read books in Florida. Isn't it against the law?
There are two book stores in all of Miami, and you must know the password to get in (they're at the backs of those shops that sell t-shirts that say things like "My Pen is HUGE").
While I was reading The Mystery Guest, I propped it inside of a copy of USWeekly so as to escape arrest.
i have nothing to say. i am just checking in to let everyone i am alive and well and thinking of you, and not dead and unwell and ignoring you. the end.
I think this week should be Megan Martin week.
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