Book Club

I’ve been neglecting the culture part of my blog, somewhat, at least, in favour of some sartorial indulgences that I’m sure also fall, at least somewhat, in the cultural realm. So because I’m already one foot out the door as I type this, and because meteorologists agree it’s a sunny beautiful day outside, I’ll post some of the things I’ve been burying myself into–that aren’t swabbed in polka dot wrapping paper or hide inside a glossy brand new shoebox.

I've always, always chosen books by name and/or by cover. Books that have a kin of an odd profession or subject are a flawless barometer of literary greatness.

I know, I know. Too late, I know.

I can never find this one in book stores, but I finally managed to snipe the last one from an impulse book outing two weeks ago. I also judge books by first paragraphs--if it's Anna Karenina-worthy, I'm sold

Double or Nothing, out next week at TriBeCa Film Fest


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