I’m supposed to be writing about, “Those Immigrants!,” my latest book, which came out last week, but other than noting that it’s excerpted in The Observer this week, was written about in Psychology Today last week, and is the focus of a keynote talk I’m giving this Saturday in Philadelphia at a national conference for prominent Indian-Americans, what’s there to say?
The temps have been cool the past few days, cool even, it’s like: Heat on in the morning, but then by the end of the day, it’s A/C.
Not that the weather is what is on my mind. I don’t get out much. Finished reading the astonishing, “Novel with Cocaine,” recommended by Knausgaard, last week, an anonymous work written a century ago that is funny, smart, dissolute, and the perfect companion for anyone who can read and feel alienated at the same time. It’s just about 200 years since Emma was published, and that’s next on the docket.
Accompanying all this are asparagus spears, white and as thick as batons, flown in from northern Europe. Steam these for a few minutes, let cool, then roast at 350 F for about ten minutes. You have to eat them with a knife a fork and nothing–nothing–tastes better.