Wish I coulda slept like Sancho Panza...

...but I sure as hell didn't. I woke up at 2:45 this morning, and lay there for two hours with all kinds of old songs running through my head. Perhaps I'd been dreaming of a karaoke bar?
I finished Don Quixote last night, and it was quite a ride of a read. I am glad to have finished it.
Wonder what ole V.S. Naipaul thinks of it, he of the very curmudgeonly-sounding piece in the NYT Book Review this week, in which he claims that fiction is pretty much useless these days. Oh, except for his personal faves, by Dickens and Tolstoy. He does have some interesting points about the usefulness of nonfiction, but I do hope someone intelligent steps up to address Naipaul's sweeping judgements.