Today, I learned that Amy Winehouse is only 25 years old. Man, that makes me feel good about the way I look for my own age. The wrinkles I'm starting to notice around my eyes when I smile don't seem like such a big deal when I see Ms. Winehouse's mug.
Secondly, I forgot how amazing The Great Gatsby is. While visiting Newport, Rhode Island with one of my best friends, Ms. Jessy Adams*, we saw a screening of the film version of the novel. I hadn't read the book or seen the movie since my freshmen year of high school, so after seeing the film, I thought I'd reread F. Scott Fitzgerald's masterpiece. I'm only two chapters in, but I realize that as adult, I have a whole new appreciation for this book. Perhaps it's my Nick Carroway-esque migration from the Midwest to the East Coast that I can identify with, but this time around, I simply can't put the book down.
*It should be noted that Ms. Adams was a fantastic host. She made sure to haev all my favorite foods on hand, as well as a kick ass air-conditioning system. She also understands the importance of visiting stores like Target while vacationing away from New York as everyone knows the Target in Brooklyn sucks.