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Last night I had a wonderful evening catching up with Zan, and our conversation of course ran the gamut from the pros/cons of living in New York, movies, television, and most importantly: books!

She just finished Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch and I am about 25% into it. I love it so far. We started talking about the way Tartt writes, how no matter the story she has a way of enveloping the reader in the atmosphere at hand. I read The Secret History earlier this year and remember vividly the clobbering cold, the corduroy-clad haughty students on a Vermont campus. It's the same with The Goldfinch, except it's set in New York. The main character at one point walks the same stretch of a block that I do most days and it's on point. I'm engrossed.

Zan also informed me that the titular piece of art is an actual painting and happens to currently be displayed at The Frick. I mistakenly thought it was a piece of fiction since it's so central to the novel, but Carel Fabritius and "The Goldfinch" existed! I plan on buying a ticket to see the collection soon; the tickets are already sold out for the times I can go this weekend.

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I came home after our great martini meet-up and flipped on Netflix to watch Frances Ha which I had just added to my queue. And Zan had just highly recommended. So I delved into the black-and-white indie and, quite honestly, fell in love.

Here's a film about a woman in her twenties trying to figure it out. And not through men. Most movies about young, straight women seem to think that if she can just find a good relationship she'll be fine. Not this one. This movie's about a woman coming-of-age these days and also about her best friendship.

Try as I might to be annoyed by Greta Gerwig for the hype, she's just too charming. She's lovely. I loved the character Frances through all of her messiness and mishaps and "undateable!" I find it impressive how she played a character that could you could so easily be angry or annoyed with at points - but you're still rooting for her. I'm not sure who else could play the character. It wouldn't fit. Greta co-wrote the film with her reported boyfriend, director Noah Baumbach. Good job, you two. GOOD JOB.

The film will probably be near my top 10 of the year, if not in it. I highly recommend it if you're in the mood for something interesting and unlike most of the formulaic stuff out there.

Maybe it's trite but I can always be wrong.

Let me explain.

Last night Zan and I had our monthly meeting at Whiskey Park to delve into serious discussion over peartinis, and per usual, we got into books. Zan and I started talking about 2666's lovely box-set packaging, and how design can make a world of difference in wanting to read a book. I then chose that moment to woefully pull out my copy of what I was currently reading: Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.

Many, many people have suggested I read this book. Plus, Carrabba wrote that song "Ender Will Save Us All," a direct reference, and thus I was sold. So, after misplacing the copy of it my dad gave me years ago, which looked like this:

You know - a regular sci-fi book, no big deal - Last year I ordered it off Amazon and this is what the package held:

And it's been sitting on my shelf until now because it looks like the cover for a 5th grader - nay! 4th grader.

Zan laughed hysterically and snapped the picture above of my shame. Remember, I read mainly on my subway commute, and so I publicly display my literature every morning and evening. I wouldn't say I take it too seriously, but I did refuse to read Twilight on my commute. I hope people at least recognize the title to know that it's a legitimate novel, and I didn't steal some kid's school book. All that said, I am enjoying Ender's Game - though I'm going to need a different copy for the library I'm planning for in my future!

And so, Zan and I had another great evening dishing on various subjects, including the current state of celebrity compared to the 50s and 60s, her love of Brit rock in the 90s and my love of alternative in the 90s, the complete lameness of a number of bands these days, her trip to Italy, and the elusive Whiskey Park Twitterer. The WPT never got back to us except after we had left and with a simple smile! What a tease! We asked our waitress bringing out the peartinis who the WPT was and she didn't even know they had a Twitter. BUM OUT. There's always next time, though - right?

Every little bird in the tall oak tree.

I present to you an argument for Twitter's validity ----

I'm meeting up with Zan next Monday for our monthly outing to Whiskey Park - when I shall be testing this possible internet generosity :)