I never get tired of the way certain things make you think of certain moments. For instance, when I think of Chuck Klosterman, a piece of my mind always flashes back to what was a close-to-perfect day that still makes me smile when I recall it.

At the time, I wrote this:

I feel good. Better than good. A puzzling mix of sensations running through my body, a good book to read, a hot latte and friends. And – and I believe this to be important – my hair is in pigtailed buns and I have Chuck Taylors on my feet. It’s a Sunday afternoon and I am ignoring the work I should do because I’ve been thinking about it all weekend and my pre-margarita shoulders tensed just thinking about it. I am imagining flirtations with men who make or drink coffee, men I can imagine to be caring and charming, possessing admirable tastes in music and who will likewise appreciate my own.

I was reading Chuck Klosterman at the time, which means the association has lingered. While I love Klosterman’s work on its own (with the exception of his novel, simply because I’ve yet to read it), I love the way Klosterman wove his way into a memory that is simple and warm. So when I read his work now, I think of the friends I was with, the day I had, and the way the author’s words just fit so perfectly into a picture of happiness.

Tonight, I’m going to see Klosterman for the first time, part of an event taking place downtown. I’m excited about being able to see a writer I respect and enjoy in person for the first time. It’s a chance to offer a smile of thanks and appreciation. I can only hope that the evening (which will end, of course, with karaoke) proves to be as enjoyable as the day I love to recall.