At the beginning of the summer, I resolved to do two things more often: ride my bike and read novels. So far, not so good. My poor, abused Fuji popped a tire after the first ride, requiring me to cram it onto the engorged post-Mermaid Parade F train from Coney Island, and my likewise worn paperback copy of Saul Bellow’s “Herzog” has already lost its cover and suffers from a spine that breaks with each page turn; reading it is like running from high tide.
Unlike some people, however, she seems to be getting something done. Or perhaps not. Maybe all she's doing is writing blog posts as well.