Winter cats: Different than summertime cats, lord knows. Less preoccupied with the hunt, more down for curling into a closed donut on your lap or sleeping the night in the crook of your knees—where you can use them for warmth just like the hot-water bottles of old.
Spaghetti squash: I'm entirely on this bandwagon. A lengthwise slice of the knife, a quick scrape of the spoon to abolish seeds, and a half hour in the oven roasting into oblivion. Such a minuscule amount of effort for a shitload of delicately perfumed vegetable matter.
Falling back: A triangle of morning light on my wall at 7:30 a.m. instead of darkest night—it's okay to want this, right?
David Bowie's List of Top 100 Books: How do you get the titles you read? Why wouldn't you get them from Bowie? I've already read seven: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, White Noise, A Confederacy of Dunces, On The Road, Mystery Train, Lolita, and Herzog. Ninety-three more to go I guess.