The most recent read I’ve enjoyed most is Bob Harris’ Prisoner of Trebekistan. It’s a book about the author’s experience playing Jeopardy, only it’s about a lot of other things too. Harris is a life-embracing kind of guy. He’s also a fine writer, funny, honest, and thoughtful. In this passage Harris looks back at the day he met his current girlfriend with the certain knowledge that that relationship is now over, though neither will admit it to the other yet:
I had met Annika in a coffee shop in Cleveland a couple of years earlier. Her eyes were the same color as my drink that day, and are now the color of whatever type of coffee you like best. (No matter what I write, you’ll conjure your own private Annika anyway. All I ask is that you make her anatomically correct, petite, and extraordinarily lovely. Whatever shade of coffee you would find the prettiest, that is the correct color for your Annika’s eyes. Her hair, however, is the same color as the hair of someone you loved once and no longer know.) My own personal Annika had eyes which were one cream with a touch of cocoa. Which is to say: eyes you’d consider spending your whole life looking at.
Harris makes a lot of friends in the years he was involved with a TV show, has a lot of adventures, and even find true love with a Hugo-winning-Buffy-writer. Not that the path of true love is … well, just read it and see for yourself.