Wednesday, May 28, 2008


Well, I was going to make dinner tonight, and I was going to bike over to the supper club house (about 8 miles round trip) and rearrange the tables and chairs - but in the end laziness triumphed. I came home and swapped my bike for the car, and drove to the house. I probably got in a little exercise shifting the furniture, anyways. And I had biked to work, biked over to DoIT to drop off my work MacBookPro to get a new DVD drive, biked back to the main part of campus and walked around for a few errands, and finally retrieved the computer - so probably not hitting that 8 mile mark, but still.

I had a vision of having a glass of dessert wine and ice cream with chocolate sauce while watching Darjeeling Limited for dinner, but that plan also altered slightly in the execution. I stopped at Trader Joe's on the way home, and got the wine, something in a big triangular bottle, called Novella. I made salad, with good lettuce from Matt Smith, and baked a loaf of supermarket take & bake French bread, and ate my salad with the warm bread, spread with a hunk cut off the Shropshire blue I've had since April.

While reading the NYT mag article about Gawker 'blogger Emily Gould, that the bro was writing about the other day. He talks about how his self-imposed 327 words limit probably saves him from getting to the level of what Ms. Gould calls "oversharing", and anyways, middle-aged 'blogger that he is (and I am) his life (and mine) probably lacks the scandal of a 26-year-old Manhattanite like Gould ... I dunno, I have to admit that I read her article with a small twinge of envy (maybe not even all that small). With every 'blog post I hope to achieve that kind of meaningful universality - when, by telling your own story so well, or so at the right time, or so "oversharingly", it strikes a chord with others. And I guess I just assume that somehow, through sheer volume of her writing, and because she's writing about sex and parties and celebs and New York City and food, Gould has more whacks at achieving it than I do.

And I'm also probably just jealous because I secretly believe that the type of Trader Joe's gourmet dinner I fixed tonight could be prepared proudly by Emily Gould, but it's cheating for me.

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