I don't know why I find this so strange and shocking, but I almost knocked over my computer when I read that David Foster Wallace was dead. I guess, to he honest, I have always been a little jealous of him (I met him once or twice) and to read that he hanged himself at 46 forces me to radically readjust my fantasy of what his life was like. (Not to mention reassess the notion that he had it so much better than me.) Infinite Jest is one of my favorite books, mostly for the ongoing discussion of how it's possible for 12-step programs like AA work when there is higher power. That part of the book has always pops into my mind whenever I get particularly blue, and I've always found it helpful. It's among the corniest cliches, really: someone writes something that helps someone else and never knows it, but then can't help themselves.

rips david