lack of absolute coordinate system
Going to Guatemala made me late for all sorts of parties, but I should note belatedly that if I had to flee into the wilderness, this would go in my backpack on top of the clean underwear:
Rhinoceros and some others, Eugene Ionesco
Cien Años de Soledad, Gabriel García Márquez
60 Stories, Donald Barthelme
The Golden Ass, Apuleius, tr. Robert Graves
The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer
The Art of Fiction, John Gardner
Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, Shunryu Suzuki
Collected Poems, W.B. Yeats
Ulysses, James Joyce
This summer, when I got my driver's license and registered to vote as a member of the Blue Party, it appears that the Red Party somehow got my data as well. Now I get periodic bulk mail from the Republican National Committee, and this morning a nice lady called to tell me that Tom DeLay wanted to recognize me with some kind of "leadership award" so that I could represent Oregon on some kind of "business council." Now you know as much as I do.
Fuck it, it's time to go back to Don Quixote. I haven't read it since I was eleven, and I don't think I ever finished Part II. The translation (John Ormsby, from 1885) didn't help me out; I mean, it had to compete with "The Transformers."