...but the Pavement Always Stayed Beneath My Feet Before
This, of course, is in addition to my newly-budding knitting hobby. And the jewelry. And the writing, which I've put off for way too long. And my insatiable appetite for books which does not seem to be diminishing as the years go by.
I have been kind of a busy girl lately, but since the busy-ness has been caused by work and hobbies, there isn't really much to tell. I'm reading Cynthia Ozick's The Puttermesser Papers, and I'm savoring this one. I can't quite tell yet if I like it or not. It's certainly well-written, it's interesting, it's kind of funny... just... bizarre. If Haruki Murakami, Philip Roth, and Paul Auster got together to write a book, it might come out something like this. It's about a pencil-pushing New York City bureaucrat who accidentally brings a golem to life who gets her elected mayor. The book is surreal and strange and nightmarish, but not in a bad way; it takes a lot for a book or film to get under my skin, and this one definitely is. It makes me vaguely uncomfortable... I can't put my finger on why.
Feist's previous album Let It Die will not leave my iPod, my car or my head. I listen to this song several times a day: