I realized yesterday that I have slowed immensely in my reading goals. At this pace, I won't come anywhere close to reading 100 books this year. Still, I'm approaching 50 (and a book a week ain't bad).
I did finish reading When You Are Engulfed in Flames, by David Sedaris, one of the funniest writers on the planet by my estimation. His essays always make me howl and in reading this, his latest book, I've kept pace with his entire corpus of writing. The guy spends most of his life in Paris, which is envious, but somehow he manages to have enough odd American experiences to justify a book every year.
He has a couple of hitchhiking stories--which is an experience I've never had. The closest I've come to hitchhiking was when my car broke down (actually wouldn't start) in a parking garage. I managed to find a ride home, but the guy who offered the ride was a college student and I don't think he said a single word the whole trip.
Getting my mail every day is about the longest hike I make. My driveway is 125 yards long, and this morning, going out to get the newspaper in the thunderstorm, I had all the adventure I wanted. I thought of the title of the book when I noted a lightening strike across the road. I'm grateful that I was not engulfed in flames.
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