I just put two and two together: I am eating ice cream while listening to Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks, arguably one of the most depressing albums ever. Taken together, and thus, out of context, this could be really depressing and pathetic, but I actually didn't set out to eat ice cream and listen to the saddest albums ever. The two separate, mutually exclusive incidents just seemed to have happened.
And by the way, the ice cream is excellent!
I've just finished reading Kyle Smith's Love Monkey. Contrary to what people might think, I didn't get it just because it had monkey in the title. At times, I felt I could relate to the main character, and sometimes it hit close to home. Sometimes it hit and missed. I also felt that if I set myself down to it, I could certainly come up with a novel like this...I can do Gen-X sarcasm, cynicism, and general malaise as well as the next guy.
Don't worry. I won't spoil the book for you by telling you how it ends, but it does just kinda "end," much like Forrest Gump stops running.
"I'm tired. I think I'm gonna go home now."
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