I read the review of the movie "Super Size Me" earlier today and I keep thinking about how the guy's doctor said that a month of eating McDonald's turned his liver to pate. Eeew. It still didn't stop me from buying a bag of Bugles from the vending machine. It has 52 percent of my daily saturated fat intake.

On Friday, my boss told me that he had managed to read 7 books last year. That kind of shocked me because I've managed to read 3 in the past month. He does have two small kids, so I'm sure that takes up a lot of his time. But still, I am not such a voracious reader that I don't have time for other things. Leo, on the other hand, has often sat perfectly still for 10 hours at a time on the weekend to read a book from cover to cover. I'm both amazed and disgusted by this. Plus, he never even reads interesting books, they are always non-fiction books about war (there's one, that has a color photograph of a person who has been shot on the cover, lovely coffee table book n'est pas?).

So I got to thinking about the books I've read this month. I finished "The Pursuit of Love" by Nancy Mitford yesterday. I really, really enjoyed it. I wish I had read it when I was a teenager. I just really like her take on love and happiness. I saw a Masterpiece Theater adaptation of "Love in a Cold Climate" (also by Mitford) and it followed the exact story of Pursuit of Love, so I can't wait to read Cold Climate.

Before that I read "Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides. It was kind of a Forest Gump-like romp through the history of Detroit set in a story about a hermaphrodite. There is a scene at the end where the customs booth on the Ambassador Bridge is described as being at the beginning of the bridge (it's rather central to the plot). Of course, as with ANY INTERNATIONAL BORDER, the booth is at the end of the bridge. This detail, while rather inconsequential as the story goes, really irritated me. I also wonder how much I would have enjoyed the book without the novelty of reading about dear Detroit.

Before that, it was "The Little Friend" by Donna Tartt, which Leo loved to make fun of "did you bring your 'little friend' to the beach? don't forget your 'little friend'!". The story itself was good, but there was no resolution at the end. I read "Pigs in Heaven" before that, by Barbara Kingsolver, but that was probably in December. Anyway, it wasn't as good as the Poisonwood Bible (which I loved) but it was still good. I purchased Prodigal Summer yesterday. I also got one called Persian Nights, which I started last night (so far the irritatingly meek woman has moved to Iran alone, but I'm only two chapters in) and some other book set in Kashmir in 1949 but I can't remember the name.

I think this has been the most successful run of books I've ever had. Usually I'll read one that I like and then there will be two following it that are duds.

OMG! I completely forgot to mention that I made soap yesterday! "Made" might be too strong of a word as I used a melt and pour base which I colored and scented myself. What fun! I ordered more supplies; I plan to make soap for everyone.