Books

I've reached an age where if I haven't read a so-called 'classic' book, I'm very unlikely to read it. TOO BAD, I don't care.

I also don't care about reading smart and innovative modern fiction.

I am never going to read another book again. Just magazines and cookbooks. And eat fish burritos.

Engorged

What do you think of when you hear the word?

I don't quite know what I used to think of. Maybe deer ticks? Dutchess County being what it is.Well, I don't know that I'll be able to think of anything else now but Maneesh. Wow.

Today was quite unique in that I seem to have successfully broken my recent hangover curse. The curse of "drink ONE glass of wine at dinner, wake up feeling fuzzy and horribly nauseous until 5pm the next day, and cursing the cruelty of life". This hit sometime at the beginning of summer, I know not why, and I've been trying to cut back on drinking ever since. Unlike some, maybe, I value those pre-5pm hours. But today, after a rough night full of confusion (the last thing I remember is Manoj and my unseemly critiquing of a go-go boy's ass complexion), I woke up and opened my eyes gingerly. I felt suspiciously normal. "Sometimes it takes a half hour to hit," I told myself.

Two hours later and still okay! It might be because I'm still drunk. But what a joy I would feel if, instead, I had returned to my college-era alcohol invincibility! Just think. I woke up the day after my 20th birthday party - a night of legend, in my eyes at least - feeling no worse for wear. I don't want to jinx it. On with the drinking?!

And on with this: my celebratory morning after sandwich. Fancy that - my first recipe!

Morning After Sandwich (To Be Eaten in Bed)

• country bread
• two eggs
• cheddar cheese, sliced
  
• butter
  
• Sriracha sauce
• salt and pepper, to taste
  

Warm bread in toaster. Fry eggs in pan and season with salt and pepper to taste (for me and my jaded taste buds, a lot). Arrange cheese slices on bread. Put eggs on one slice of bread. Squirt with a reasonable amount of Sriracha sauce. Top with remaining slice of bread. Smush down, throw on plate, and carry back to your room. Don't eat it too fast!

Wannabe

Tennis
I really do want to be writing more frequently. It's just hard when all my thoughts seem to take place while I'm peripatetic.

Last night I went to the U.S. Open with/thanks to Ning, who had some amazing tickets. Well, the seats were amazing - we were sitting in a box in the second tier above the courts. From our vantage, we could make out the grimaces or fist pumps of the players. Federer, Lopez, Chakvedatze, and Paczek.

Too snotty to look up the women's names, so I hope I'm spelling them right.

Sitting in the box with all the other entitled box-sitters, it struck me how the best part of sitting in such a box is the petty scoping out of the people adjacent. A beautiful/hot Korean mom and her three petulant kids sat to the right. Substantially twinkly diamonds glittered on ring fingers. Whether at the Parisian opera or Arthur Ashe, sideward glances are de rigueur.

Never let yourself get too committed to underdogs.

Shopping
In shopping news, I took a second visit to the Barneys sale, where things were marked down with some ferocity. 75% off the lowest marked price!

I'm very satisfied with my tactics this season. A visit one week into the sale to be able to get some special things. And then a wrap-up visit in the final week, to get some not-at-all special and very special things. Like a Vena Cava tweed jacket marked down from $675 to $90. I made the woman standing in front of me hold it up so I could take a cameraphone picture to send to my mom. Her ultimate judgment was "I can't really see it. But if you like it, you're going to buy it".

I've begun to appreciate a bit more the metricious art behind putting together an 'ensemble'. It used to be that I was perplexed when Kristy from The Babysitters Club was called tomboyish for always wearing a t-shirt and jeans. "What else would you wear?" I went to the Barneys sale once in those days. I must have been thirteen and begged my mom to let me go. In the end, I bought some terribly overpriced house label sweaters that didn't fit me right. You live and you learn...

Veronica and I discussed this a bit as we reflected on those girls who do take 'hours in the bathroom'. What a terrible allure! You can tell.