I was thinking yesterday about all the dumb things you believe when you’re little, and how most of them get disproved by the time you get a little bit of sense.
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A got a call last night while I was talking to my mom. My mom was boring me by going into excessive detail about how she made dinner, so I was glad to get a beep.
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Happy birthday to Vendela!
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When I was growing up, nothing could annoy me more than the sound of my brother doing any of the following things:

• breathing
• chewing
• humming
• blowing on his food
• talking in his gangster voice and calling me “Kid”

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Last night I got a frantic phone call. I had already told Gorjus to buzz off earlier in the evening because I was exhausted and felt like I was getting a cold.
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I was just reading “The Literary Glutton” by Anne Fadiman (found in Ex Libris, a charming little book about the pleasures of reading), and in it she quotes Keats, who is describing eating a nectarine. This is one of the best passages describing the sensuality of food that I’ve ever read:
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I met Gorjus 100 years ago when he had that long, long hair that made him look like even more of an albino than he does now. Then 96 years later I re-met him at a party at Steve’s house, and we really started being friends.
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Due to my debilitating fear of losing my memory, I have kept a journal in some form since I was in 5th grade. Granted, my 5th grade entries were like this:

I am so excited! I’m going to the mall later to get a Michael Jackson pin!
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Because I am a pretentious pseudointellectual, I have been reading Harold Bloom’s How to Read and Why with great delight. It makes you want to stay up late reading every night for the rest of your life.
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