Lately I have started to come home during my dinner break. Traditionally I had rotated between eating at Vios Cafe (50% discount!) and Zeek's Pizza. Sometimes I ventured as far as Jalisco's Mexican restaurant for a "change of pace." But ever since I moved into the house with my Significant Other, I have been able to sit down at the table in the kitchen with a view of the Cascade mountain range through the sliding glass doors. It's not a million dollar view by any means, but any glimpse of the mountains from the city is becoming more and more rare, especially since they lifted the height restrictions on buildings downtown.
Beside being lucky enough to enjoy home cooked meals nearly every night, I have also enjoyed a multitude of homemade snacks. We're talking fresh apple turnovers, "blond" brownies, pecan bars. Right now there is a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts sitting on the counter. Granted, it's not homemade goodies, but it's tempting nonetheless. Soon, instead of driving five minutes to come home to eat, I'll be walking to and from work and eating carrot sticks during break.
My home office is still shaping up. I finally moved my desk over, so that logging on and getting things done is not so inconvenient anymore. There are still shelves that have yet to be filled with books, but there are still boxes of books to unpack. In fact, there are still boxes...and boxes...and boxes of books to bring over. Last night we contemplated lining the walls up near the ceiling with a bookshelf or two. Then we would need one of those ladders that roll along on a track, so that we could pull down a volume occasionally.
Speaking of books: I have yet to really start A Common Pornography by Kevin Sampsell. Well, actually I've started it two or three times, but I just cannot seem to get into it. I think I'm more in need of a novel with a good plot to pull me along. I picked up a used copy of Jim Thompson's Pop. 1280. I had recently ordered the Criterion edition of "Coup de Torchon"; a film directed by Bernard Tavernier and based on the novel by Thompson. I had originally seen the film upon it's release in 1983 at the Four Seasons Cinemas in East Providence, Rhode Island. [Obvious insertion of meaningless personal trivia.] Tavernier changes the location in the novel from the American south to colonial Africa.
Previously I have read Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside of Me, which is a short intense novel about a psychopathic killer, who also happens to be the town sheriff. Thompson is in a class of crime noir writers that include David Goodis, and Charles Willeford. His prose is raw and his characters sink to unspeakable lows. It's great stuff!
It is now nearing one o'clock in the morning and there is a Bavarian creme donut with my name on it, just waiting to be ingested. Maybe I can peruse a few titles in an effort to pick my next book while I stuff my face. I just happened to bring a few new books home with me.