In real life, I only have one friend who's truly literary--which is to say, she doesn't read the kinds of books you'd normally see on the New York Times bestseller list or as an Oprah recommendation. She has good taste. She's read and enjoyed Fyodor Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment (and in that respect, Nicole, I am not worthy). She knows who said, "Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut." In short, she and I have scarily similar taste in books.

She was also the one who, several months ago, casually mentioned she was reading Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I casually picked up the book yesterday--and promptly read one hundred fifty pages of it over the course of the day and night. Klosterman's discourses on popular culture--ranging from Pamela Anderson to Saved by the Bell to the artistic brilliance of Billy Joel--are equal parts exasperating, funny, angry, and witty. He's also a damned good writer. I recommend. So does Nicole, I'm sure.