in the first of two gorgeous literary surprises, last night i beat my father at scrabble. we went to dinner at our indian place, where everyone knows us and we figgered they wouldn't mind if we took our customary table by the window and spread a board and little wooden tiles all over it, and i got 78 points on my first move and maintained roughly that lead throughout. not an unimpressive feat considering my father is the smartest person i know and does an average of two crossword puzzles a day; but then, i've had a lot of recent practice.
afterwards he grumbled/gloated to my grandmother (cuz when your child surpasses you in anything it's nachas) and then drove me to liz's house. we watched amelie, which i liked even better the second time, and entertained rick the vagabond. he's been wandering the country for two months and looks no worse for wear -- in fact he looks just as scruffy and puppyish as he did at the end of high skool when i beat my head against a wall trying to stop liking him. he's one of those people who never lose the quality, usually associated with infants, of being cute in all circumstances, even when vomiting or explaining earnestly why one's girlfriend should be small enough to fit one's arms around and touch oneself. i guess in a weird way at that time in my life i was into s&m.

but we had fun. and today, after a disappointing greek wedding and much running through raindrops, liz brought me home and i found on my doorstep my second gorgeous literary surprise: cunt: a declaration of independence by inga muscio. my dearfriend andrea from denmark sent it to me as a belated-birthday present. that's how cool she is. her package contained a note written on lavendar stationary with a kitten face on top, big bubbly handwriting, snapshots of us in copenhagen and barcelona, and a cheerful yellow book called cunt.