Relaxative.

The relaxing weekend continues. Did the crosswords slowly (NYT 6, LAT 7 (got stuck on the northeast corner)), then sent out a new contact at Match.com. Not really expecting much--the girl seems to be rather different from me--but I got a good vibe from the profile, and it contained a trivia question that I felt compelled to answer. (Note to all ladies looking to ensnare me with their feminine wiles: Trivia questions are a good start. Further, the way to this man's heart is through his vocabulary.) Now I think I'll read, write, nap and/or watch a movie, as my whim may direct me.

Lampedusa.

On page 360 out of 656, and I am falling in love with a fictional character.

This has not happened before in a novel. Occasionally (well more than occasionally, really) I've been afflicted with an infatuation for a fictional character on the big screen, or more often on the small. Both of these were different, though, because dramatic characters are necessarily infused with the reality of their portrayors. Buffy the Vampire Slayer may be an amazing character, but adoration for Buffy is siphoned off to Sarah Michelle Gellar, who embodies her, whose life and intelligence create Buffy week after week after week.

Mere minutes after I write "The way to this man's heart is through his vocabulary," I stumble upon a girl who dreams fantastic words. Further, she is entirely made of words; there is no corpuscular reality to distract from my feelings toward Rosa Luxemburg Saks, who lives solely in the pages of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. Of course she is beautiful, but that is an afterthought, and redundant. Anyone who is so intelligent, who possesses a Promethean power of thought, cannot be anything other than beautiful.
( salactor )