Okay, back again.

Change of plans. I'm not really in the mood for French Existentialism today, as it turns out, and maybe I never really am. What I realized I should be doing is cleaning my room, but I first made sure to download my free audiobook as advertised at the end of the This American Life podcast (you should do it, too. It's a pretty good deal). After much debate, I settled on Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation because I have a huge boner for Sarah Vowell and her squeaky little voice and geeky demeanor. Also because it features Jon Stewart as President James A. Garfield.

From the iTunes description:

Sarah Vowell exposes the glorious conundrums of American history and culture with wit, probity, and an irreverent sense of humor. With Assassination Vacation, she takes us on a road trip like no other, a journey to the pit stops of American political murder and through the myriad ways they have been used for fun and profit, for political and cultural advantage.

So far, it's pretty good. About 19 minutes in, I realized that I was going to need some coffee if I was going to get anything done today, so I rustled up some café au lait (I've changed my mind about everything), and went outside for some nicotine and obviously helpful list-making:

clean room

tampons
toilet paper
antiseptic mouthwash

That's as far as I got. Looking over at the White Trash Rock Garden as I absentmindedly alternated between sips of coffee and puffs of cigarette, I noticed something amongst the sad shrubs and cigarette butts and the garden gnome. It was a book, The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey, dropped down for me from the upstairs neighbors' fire escape. I climbed over the railing, careful to avoid the broken glass and spider webs, and picked up the paperback. Safely back on the stoop, I flipped through the pages, skipping the introductions and prologues because I never read those, and found the first paragraph of the novel proper:

Dr. Sarvis with his bald mottled dome and savage visage, grim and noble as Sibelius, was out night-riding on a routine neighborhood beautification project, burning billboards along the highway-- U.S. 66, later to be devoured by the superstate's interstate autobahn. His procedure was simple, surgically deft. With a five-gallon can of gasoline he sloshed about the legs and support members of the selected target, then applied a match. Everyone should have a hobby.

I know I have like five books going at this point, but Christ. I'm excited for this one. It's a good day when books just fall out of the sky at me.