On happiness (fleeting, yeah, but happiness)

Okay, so happiness is sliding through Fulton County emissions testing, even though you know full well that your car is all kinds of broken.

But happiness is other things, too. Doug lists a few obscure, personal little thrills ("Celebrity Jeopardy" sketches on SNL, finding fried green tomatoes on the menu at a new restaurant) and I pitch in a few of my own (the little quasi-drum break toward the beginning of "Wonderwall," a man with nice forearms). But when this old world really starts getting me down, I retreat to that age-old geekly practice of cracking open a book from my childhood.

My most recent pick was Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle In Time, and past reads have included The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin, and, on seriously rough days, Harold and the Purple Crayon (which you absolutely shouldn't knock until you've tried it). I came thisclose to marrying the wrong man just because he'd read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

A person's escapist reading list can be every bit as revealing as their iPod Random Ten, if not moreso. If you're feeling brave, feel free to throw your own list down in the comments. I might need some new reading material; after all, my car is working now, which is usually a sign that something seriously serious is about to break.