A New York State of Mind; A Gay Sleuth

What an oddly quiet day. This morning was guiet. And this afternoon it drizzled on and off and was even quiter.

Around noon, I wanted to go back to bed, but I forced myself to go out to lunch. My first stop was to pick up a copy of "The New York Times." This used to be my regular habit on Sunday. But about two months, I realized I was having trouble finishing one, so I stopped buying it.

But having a later lunch on a dripping Sunday afternoon seemed the perfect time and place to puruse "The Times." Once I took my regular place at the sushi bar and started reading, I realized how much I enjoyed it.

I've read "The Times" for many years, and there is no doubt that it is one of the great newspapers of the print era. In college, I even had a mail subscription for the daily issue. In fact, it was one of the few bits of intellectual stimulation I could depend on in college. (Note the not-so-causal backhanded slap at the college I attended. One known for the presence of the empty-headed daughters of plantation owners and the whiskey-swilling sons of big-town bankers.)

Only one other continued "affiliation" pre-dates the NYT. And that is "The New Yorker." And it proved to be the other source of enlightment for a poor college kid at odds with the world. And I used to save all the issues. I saved the ones from college. Then carted them back to my parents. Collected some more. Then move those two groups into my apartment. And saved even more. The closet in my apartment held neat stacks arranged by year. This was my OCD period, so I would diligently straighten them a couple of times a day. In retrospect, I guess it was an attempt to hold on to something that soothed my emotional turmoil.

I still diligently read "The New Yorker," but I only save a few issues. My practice now is to pass them on to people who I know will read and respect them.

I only had a couple of books, I wanted to check for. I found Heinlein's "Tunnel in the Sky," but decided I could get it cheaper at the exchange book store. I also came across Philip Dick's "Minority Report," but decided against it.

Months ago, I picked up Michael Craft's "Name Games." But it wound up on the bookshelf, and I only recently re-discovered it. A sheer delight it was to read. Mark Manning is a gay newspaper publisher, and amateur sleuth, in a small Wisconsin town. There's a gay lover. A murder. And lots of red herrings. (I wonder what't the origin of that phrase.)

I then bought one of the earlier books with Manning, "Flight Dreams," but found I enjoyed "Name Games" more. So while I was at B&N, I glanced at the shelves and noticed the newest in the series, "Boy Toy." From what I've read so far, it is dfinitely equal to "Name Games."

PAX!