French bread: The very fresh kind, from a real bakery—I'd forgotten all about it. Soft as a pillow with a lovely crunch. Employ it as a makeshift spoon to consume your bowl of soup, and be rewarded with joy.
Ray Romano: He's got this salt-and-pepper, funny-awkward thing going that I'm pretty down for.
Sleeping easily: You don't really appreciate it until suddenly you don't have it—the kind of night when you fall asleep naturally and sleep deeply, waking only once to let in the cat and maybe lie there for a moment listening to the rain out on the lawn before slipping off again.
Milk Music, "The Final Scene": Wild, beautiful stuff. Eight minutes, sure, but ride it out—it won't be a chore. Let the reaper laugh, let the mountains crumble.