So, the votes are in: the Pletka jersey is, by a factor of several million, everyone's favorite thing ever. Just a smattering of the responses:
"You wore that out in public??!!"
"You were seen in public in that shirt? Gawd. I hope you were drunk."
"Oh, Greg, tell me you didn't do another jersey post."
So, uh, yeah.
I've been neglecting my little blog lately -- new TV, 65 degree temperatures. I actually sweated today. Winter seems so far away. In a month I'll be bitching about the heat.
In the meantime --
#7 -- "Write to Kill" by Daniel Pennac
This has been sitting on my shelves for nine years or so -- a review copy obtained in my previous life as a half-assed book reviewer. I'd read one of Pennac's others ("The Fairy Gunmother") and enjoyed it, which saved this from the used bookstore pile over the intervening years -- but didn't rush to get into this, obviously.
It's pretty fun -- I have limited memories of TFG, but while I remember laughing a lot, I don't remember this much. It's an absurdist French mystery, centered around the main character and his dozens of sibilings, and a spate of murders. Trying to relate the plot would be pointless, and spoil some stuff -- there's a prison that tries to rehabilitate inmates into artists, there's multiple stolen identities, the main character spends a good portion of the book in a coma.
Best way to describe it? French Douglas Adams writing mystery novels. I won't rush to read another Pennac just 'cause I've got so many other things taking up space, and I'm long removed from reading many mysteries, but if one crossed my path, I'd welcome it in.