Over the course of

a staggeringly unproductive weekend that involved mostly excessive sleeping I did read a couple of novels: Hari Kunzru's Transmission (a talented writer, but this book's not so much my kind of thing; too satirical and flashy; there were some things I really liked, but my own life is conducted SO FAR from this glitzy globalized media-ey world that it all seems rather beside the point; reminiscent of Kurt Andersen's Turn of the Century, only Andersen has the gift of making characters you really care about); and Greg Bear's Dead Lines (I enjoyed it, though I think the main character could have been more fully and attractively fleshed out, so to speak; probably inferior to Tim Powers, whose books leave me feeling genuinely queasy). I want to write an all-out horror novel sometime.