There is an episode in that much beloved (by seminarians/clergy/anglicans in general, at least) BBC comedy The Vicar of Dibley in which the Vicar is invited to just about everyone's home for Christmas dinner and doesn't have the heart to turn anyone down. So she travels from home to home, eating 4 course (or more) meals at each locale. As you can imagine she winds up quite sick. While I am not that full, I do empathize with her character a bit. Yesterday, I was at The Girlfriend's parent's house for a Mother's Day brunch, that ended up not getting served until 3. Normally, no problem. But, with an invite to a parishioner's home at 7 for dinner, I was concerned. I told The Girlfriend that I was only going to eat light at her brunch; but it was a serve it yourself, buffet style setting, and by the time I made my way around the kitchen island, my plate was laden with food and she looked at me and said, "Light, huh?" I had no reply.

Then dinner at 7 was delicious. There were crackers, cheese, and sorpressata as an appetizer and then a main course of risotto with mushrooms and asparagus, plus the largest prawns I'd seen in a while broiled in a scampi sauce. I had 8. I couldn't help it. When I got home, I collapsed into the bed and when I woke up, I was still full. Ughh...but delicious.

NOW, on the reading front, I continue to be inspired by my buddy Griffin's blog, by the comments he recently got from our friend Taylor, and by the exchange going on here about Pullman's novels. I love talking about books and about reading, and doing so just spurs me on further. Ask Griffin or Pierre sometime about how we would sit around Barnes and Noble and talk about a book until we worked ourselves up into a dorky, literary frenzy. Ah, those were the days!

So, I'm almost finished with McCarthy's The Road, cause I can't put it down. It's amazing, and if his other books are anything like this one, I'll be sure to become a fan.

Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy is next on my agenda, so I'll be sure to let you all know what I think of it. As those close to me know, unlike some of my clerical colleagues, novels questioning the nature of God don't scare me. (A) They're novels. (B) God knows I question his nature all the time anyway.

To respond to Adam Jacob, yes I did read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, but was unimpressed. I never liked Jane Austen stories and just because Susanna Clarke added magic to what essentially is one, doesn't make me interested. That was 800 pages I'd rather have back.

And I spent some gift cards I had lying around left over from Christmas (sad, I know) and got three more pieces of fiction to add to the ever-growing, never-ending, queue:

1. The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, by: Umberto Eco
2. The Alchemist, by: Paul Coelho
3. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, by: Michael Chabon

-R