Useless

I didn’t work this past weekend. I did relaxing things. These things included two strenuous workouts, a rented movie (Breach), and a long walk around lower Manhattan. This essentially means that I’m not in the mood to write about nightclubs, or the nightclub industry, or the state of the Guido collective with regard to New York’s perpetually evolving social dynamic.

Here instead, for anyone who gives a shit, is a list of the last ten books I’ve read:

1. You Don’t Love Me Yet, by Jonathan Lethem

2. The Mormon Murders, by Steven Naifeh and Gregory White

3. The Foreign Correspondent, by Alan Furst

4. Girl in Landscape, by Jonathan Lethem

5. Mormon America, by Richard N. Ostling and Joan K. Ostling

6. The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

7. The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand

8. Anthem, by Ayn Rand

9. Dead Eye Dick, by Kurt Vonnegut

10. The Adventures of Augie March, by Saul Bellow

I’m not including the two books by the author to whom I referred in a post two weeks ago, as I don’t want said post to be construed as a personal attack. It wasn’t.

Breach was very good, and held my attention for its entirety, but Chris Cooper wore too much makeup. Chris Cooper is one of my favorite actors, and I’m sure this excessive application of makeup was not his fault, but when a character in a movie looks like he has a fake face, I get upset and lose focus on what the filmmaker is trying to accomplish.

I am easily distracted.