Please excuse the dullness of the following tale, as it involves literature of sorts.

Tonight, I discovered the charming thing that is the book party. It is to celebrate the release of a book; little salmon bread things are circulated, drinks are served. People come and go, showing face, kissing the writer, excusing themselves twenty minutes later. Little gay men flit around the writer like fairies; her parents take candid pictures.

I am reminded of when I used to want to write books. Maybe one day I still will? It was the study of my undergrad, at least. Anywhoos, this girl I’m in Ars Nova with, Rachel Schukert, has written this amazing book/ memoir about growing up silly and Jewish in Omaha. I pre-ordered it, and keep missin the UPS guy – so at the party, when I saw copies a plenty, I picked one up and started reading. 20 minutes later I re-surfaced when someone I knew finally showed up. I am so wowed by something that is just truly good. When something is truly good, actually good, it doesn’t make me jealous at all, I can’t help but celebrate it.

As a blogperson, I reccomend this book thoroughly.