a couple of weeks ago in the new yorker there was a gorgeous essay by calvin trillin about his wife, alice, which sparked me to go back and re-read his tummy trilogy which i have fallen in love with even though for some reason i wasn't all that crazy about it when i first read it.
anyway, the essay isn't on the magazine site but someone took the time to type it onto their personal site and it's so amazing and so moving. i keep thinking about the essay and wishing that someone would write something so wonderful and loving about me someday (except i don't want it to be because i died!) but then i realize that i'd have to become someone like alice, who is perfect and lovely and other-worldly. i see now that calvin could have only written it for alice and that's that. take the time to read alice, off the page - you won't regret it.
note: i just realized that the essay has not been typed in its entirety because, as craig would say, it's of new yorker length proportions, which is to say, L-O-N-G. so sorry about that. you get the gist. go to the library and find an archived copy of it. maybe the magazine will take pity on us and publish the whole thing sometime soon.
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