I couldn't possibly have sex with someone with such a slender grasp on grammar.

Ok! See, I didn't leave you hanging for another month! ;)

6 more days. *giddy*

I am at Sherlock's for lunch. Mostly because I needed another book to read. I made the mistake originally of seeking out the English bookstore in Centrum (gads, PAY for a book? though in fairness, without that adventure, there would have been no Stephen Fry story to tell), and then found not only this place, but the big bookshelf at work of books to trade. When I found the work bookshelf, however, it was quite on the shabby side. Though I did pluck Haruki Murakami's Birthday Stories compilation (he selected them all and introduces the book, but they are largely written by others) from the shelf. But I'm betting after this week, it has filled out considerably. A ton of interns had their last day yesterday, including my K. :'C

So I had been given a novel by Lorraine, the co-owner of my little jazz pub. She and her boyfriend Roshan own it. She's actually Scottish and he's Dutch. So anyway, I think I had just polished something off and she said she'd bring up a book she'd just finished--that it was total fluff and piffle, but a fun read anyway. And it was! I have no doubt I have already forgotten it but it passed the time well. It was a Maeve Binchy novel, whose name I did not recognize, but she writes a ton of Dublin-based books that are probably not poorly described as chick-lit, most well known of all being Circle of Friends. (See: crappy Minnie Driver/Chris O'Donnell movie that is really not all that crappy I guess.)

Anyhoo, she gave me Tara Road, which was perfectly enjoyable. It took a while before any actual conflict arose, and it was total chick lit, but I respect it for two things: there were a ton of varied female relationships (of all kinds, I mean) and they were written remarkably well. And also, things did not always pan out the way you might expect from a "chick lit" book. So it wasn't bad. And I sure hope Lorraine didn't want it back because I left it in Sarajevo in exchange for The Stonecutter by Camilla Läckberg, which had me at "Swedish crime thriller." (My hostel had a long row of abandoned paperbacks as well!) I figured out the "mystery" fairly early on (actually I went too far with it, beyond how it actually panned out, but whatevs), but it was still a fun read. I am still very much in need of piffle just like that, so I came here for lunch.

First of all, this is so my kind of place. There is this dim little downstairs den of used books with four small tables, lamps and old photos and WIFI, OH YEAH. And I am surrounded by used books that are actually mostly shit--tons of crap romance and spy novels with the occasional Virginia Woolf, Graham Greene and Emily Bronte thrown in for good measure. But I am totally in for the crap crime/suspense genre--stuff with names like Final Theory, The Hidden, A Darker Place, Fatal, Fractured, The Hidden Oasis. I mean, those are all really here, it's just too easy. (To be fair, I am still fairly selective of the crap I choose to read.)



It seemed wrong to use the flash. Destroy the character of the shot and all.

I grabbed The Associate (Grisham) for a moment, thinking, hey, obvious is a win today. But then it was so obvious that I'd actually already read it and forgotten. Whoops. (I mean really, when the fuck did I have the time to read a non-law book in the past couple years? And yes, Grisham is non-law.) So I have opted for The Tourist by Olen Steinhauer. It's got a Stephen King blurb splashed across the front: "The best spy novel I've ever read that wasn't written by John le Carre!" Oh fine, I'm in.

I can only assume I'm into the whole crime/suspense genre as a release from reading all goddamn day about paramilitary groups called the Red Berets and the Super Tigers and--far less impressively in English, anyway--the Yellow Wasps. I mean, we're getting dangerously near middle school mascot territory at some point. But anyway.

I only found this place because it was recommended to me by another regular at the jazz pub. (Ironically, it's also a four minute walk from my house, *facepalm*). Apparently they have one fuck of a good burger, and I'm having it now. Yes, it is QUITE GOOD. For one thing, you have to be careful with your burgers here. Not only are they hard to find (a google search of "best burgers, den haag" results in a search that yields BURGER KING as #2) but often when you do find them, they are not strictly beef, but a weird mix of beef, lamb, and...well, who knows, really? So Sherlock's offers a solid, delicious number that even has a fried egg on it not unlike a number from Dirty Love Burger. <3

Ok, I will try to upload some Sarajevo pics, but I think this post is quite long and useless enough. ;)

And it's raining again. Pissing down, as it were. :/ Oh, Holland.