Summer cont.

I’ve received many a business email and text today, almost none of which mention the election. Again, I’m not “on” social media, so I don’t have a scrollable feed from which to see anyone’s publicized opinions; maybe it is the norm now to separate those thoughts for the correct venues. We’ve been through this before and perhaps won’t be bothered with spinning our wheels where they won’t catch ground. Maybe some acquaintances assume I am something I’m not. To be fair, I haven’t brought it up to them, either. One never knows.

Here are my immediate thoughts, anyway: I’m hungover from Harris-themed brat-green drinks made by bartenders of the River at a house party, (still) in the process of moving apartments, and worried about work things. In fact, I know I’ve sent mixed messages about this in the past, but in truth I would love it if you bought a subscription to this newsletter, if you have not.

I promise more gossip, more recommendations/reviews, more attempts to answer any questions you send me (just reply to your emails), and new columns. As of now, I’m still recounting this summer, a—as they say—simpler time, when I was reading books about summers: Death in Venice, Last Summer in the City. Now, I’m reading Intermezzo and pretty bored with it, sorry to say.