Neal Stephenson has a new book out. It's sitting on my chair, begging me to stay up all night reading it and falling in love. I've had it for almost a week now, and I can't bring myself to open it, rather like one might put off calling the girl you're in love with because someday, you will have to break up with her. Someday, this book will be over, and I will have no more new Neal Stephenson, and it will be very sad. And I can only read it for the first time once. So I'm saving it, for the right time, the right rainy weekend, the right downturn in my mood. I know exactly how it will feel--like falling back in love with an old friend.
I went hiking last weekend, for the very first time. We ate lunch on top of Old Rag Mountain, and it was without a doubt the highlight of the past few months. Growing up the way I did, the idea of a big place full of rocks to be climbed however you want, that the trail is, basically, a giant free for all across huge slabs of granite which are pleasantly grippy on the feet--well, that's like Disneyland. I jumped around like a six year old. And took a ton of pictures.
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