(I still have not finished The Tipping Point. Shame on me.)

Saturday, while my sweetie was enjoying his first professional massage, I was left to my own devices in downtown Boulder. With a little money in my pocket, I headed off to the farmer's market. After about 20 mins of wandering through the controlled chaos, I gave up any hope of finding anything either reasonably priced or useful, and headed off to the Boulder Bookstore.

There, waving to me from the Literature section, I found Kurt Vonnegut's Bluebeard, which begged me to take it home. So, I did. I'm not used to taking home strangers like that, but this was the friend of a co-worker.

After a bout of insomnia later that night, I picked it up and started reading it. I could not put it down until I had finished it! There are only a few authors that capture my interest like that: Hunter S. Thompson, Aldous Huxley, and Kurt Vonnegut. Their writings grab me by the seat of the pants and won't let go until I finish the book, despite how god-awfully late it is.

Although somewhat predictable, Bluebeard struck me as being one of Vonnegut's better works. The book left me feeling satisfied, though it wasn't difficult to pick up on the ending. I very much enjoy how Vonnegut has a way of developing characters in a way that makes them easy to relate to -- even when they do scummy things. Especially when they do scummy things. That is one of the things I love best about his works: the people can just be people, warts and all.

All in all, it didn't stand out much in my mind from a lot of Vonnegut's other works, but nearly everything he writes is terrific (aside from Timequake from what I hear).