Well, when it rains, it pours. Literally. We’ve had a ton of rain here, and now with this hurricane business, we’re getting even more. Last night, I heard a dripping upstairs in my office, and this morning, we had a full-out leak. My husband is currently cutting out the sheetrock to pull out wet insulation and try to figure out what the problem is, there are tarps spread out, power tools, the entire deal. I got kind of freaked and escaped to my office on campus, which is oh so quiet and peaceful, nobody around, since classes don’t start for another few weeks. Just the occasional sound of a door shutting, a distant voice, and, yes, rain smacking against the window.

Meanwhile, I’ve been catching up on my TV watching after a hiatus—so to say—while on vacation and, before that, being addicted to The Tour. Last night I watched the third episode of Entourage, the new HBO show produced by Mark Wahlburg, and I really like it, I have to say. The first show I wasn’t so sure, but now it’s totally growing on me. Also, a guilty addiction, or maybe just fascination: Amish in the City, which I watched for the first time at the hotel where we stopped on the way down from Massaschusetts. Yes, it’s a creepy concept, and yes, the L.A. people are totally obnoxious, but still, I couldn’t tear myself away. It does show that they’re really reaching for new ideas, though, doesn’t it? I mean, what’s next? Oh, don’t even answer that. I don’t think I want to know.

Finally, a books update. I read Jane Green’s To Have and To Hold, which I really liked, even though it was different—in voice and tone, anyway—than her other books. I also just finished The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, which is the book EVERYONE has recommended to me this summer, and for good reason: it’s great. Unique, concise…just different, and that’s hard to do in this fiction market. Impressive. Now I’m reading Lance Armstrong’s first book, It’s Not About the Bike, which I intend to alternate with either Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons or Pamela Anderson’s novel, Star. Yes, you read that right. Pamela Anderson has written a novel. (Or sort of written it. That’s the part I’m not clear on.) Don’t believe me? Here’s your proof.

(I would like to point out that I did not purchase this book, but was given it by the local paper, to consider for review. I would also like to say that it comes with a free pinup poster inside. Talk about a marketing gimmick. What next? Oh, God. I don’t even want to know.)

have a good day everyone!