Oh, how I love the blogs. But this has to be one of my favorites. Someone from Seattle, liveblogging during his Manhattan interlude, waxes poetic about a moment on a train with a tall blonde Nordic goddess. And guess what the stunning mama-to-be is reading!

I realize that, were I still looking for romance, the fact that I fall in love with a different girl every 5 minutes in this town might not bode well for the assurance of future fidelity. But how can I help it? The aforementioned Nordic goddess was also apparently about 7 months along, standing with her back casually against the car door, unaided by a hand-hold. She was reading Michelle Richmond’s “The Year of Fog”, turning the pages nonchalantly as the train bounced along, not even giving the fish-eye to the young kid taking up one of the front seats that are clearly labeled as for ‘special needs’ passengers. Just another heroic day for her.

I occasionally hear stories from friends and acquaintances, about who they saw reading The Year of Fog where, but this might just be my favorite. First runner up is a story from a writer/reader/traveler here in San Fran, named Chellis, who found a copy of The Year of Fog in some out-of-the-way cafe in Costa Rica. I’m sure this sort of thing happens to the likes of Michael Chabon and Ian McEwan all the time, but for me it’s rare enough to give me warm fuzzies.