I have almost finished Eating the Dinosaur. I could finish it entirely, but I refuse to read the essay on football. Football is dull. It is the dullest of all sports. The only thing good about football is tail-gating and tail-gate food.

With less than one week left in the summer, I don't know what to read next. Should I even bother? Operating under the assumption I will be too busy to leisure read during my semester in DC, my next literary adventure would have to begin in December. I'm also starting to doubt the point of making long, strict reading lists. The past three months are proof that I don't follow them if it's not a book I'm excited about, and Hemingway's prose will never excite me. (This is seperate from the man himself. I love hearing about Hemingway's crazy, alcoholic life).

I do want to read Hitch-22. That one is non-negotiable.