And Again...

I have this tendency to fall in love with authors. Not in the sense that I should -- "Oh, this author is brilliant so I'll read more books and maybe a biography." Instead, I think: "Wow, this guy is a genius. I wonder if he's hot. (pause while I check the author photo) He is pretty hot. I bet we'd get along." This is not sane. Imagine my chagrin when I fell in love with the late Oscar Wilde. Of course, then I got a glimpse of his picture. Maybe he was 1800s hot. I was equally disappointed with Vonnegut. He just looks funny. But I bet he is funny, so maybe that worked out well for him. I was equally depressed with Tennessee Williams because he was gay and David Sedaris as well. I mean, break a girl's heart, why don't you? Well, this is my new author flash in the pan. I can't figure out if I think he's hot separate from the book. The book is really, really good. It sort of deals with that earlier midlife crisis thing that goes on. The character is 28 (and probably the author too -- it's clearly autobiographical. Maybe.) and is dealing with the what-is-it-all-about questions of life. He suffers from... (suspenseful music) indecision, which incidentally is the title of the book. Thought I wouldn't be psychotic and only put a picture of the author, so here's a mention of the book. :)

I am sure this author crush won't last, though I have been under the assumption that Dave Eggers just might be my soulmate for quite some time. Still, I always read another book, find another author. Maybe I should switch to only female authors for a while. But why? :) I enjoy my little crushes and I'm sure these men, alive or not, would be flattered.

Ooh, sobering thought: am I an author slut? Nah. Only hypothetically. And we're all hypothetically much worse people than in real life.