My nightly before bed ritual has become known at Supergenius HQ as the orgasmathon. It’s has earned this name because I swoon with delight after just about every sentence in Jonathan Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn. The book is so fucking good that I get a squiggly feeling in the pit of my stomach just thinking about it. It’s so good I find myself going to bed earlier and earlier, just so I can read it for a bit longer.

So basically, or at least thus far, it’s a murder-mystery told by Lionel eatmebailey Essrog, an orphan afflicted with Tourette’s. I am so in love with him and not just for his funny Tourette dickweed tics. I love him because he says things like (and I’m paraphrasing) “He didn’t have the sense of self to loathe himself – so intead I loathed him.” I have the real quote written down at home in a notebook.

Anyway, at one point Lionel talks about how Prince’s music is a balm for all his Tourette’s tics. How the order and chaos in the notes soothes him.

And now, I can’t seem to turn off Prince.