Am I really going to try and write something that will even come close to commemorating the life and work of David Foster Wallace? I think not. Personally, I'm not in a place where I have the time or patience for long format stuff. Infinite Jest's million pages were not going be done justice by this dumb guy, and as a result I was much more a fan of his essays. They were much more easily consumed and made me feel comparatively less stupid, plus I'm a sucker for an annotation. I do, however, look forward to the days when I might be able to understand his fiction. Kath sent me a message last night and figured I'd hear from Christian and Caroline soon enough. Indeed, I did. Yahoo! says that he hung himself. I never heard anything about DFW being especially tormented, but I guess I'd hardly be the first to know. What's done is done, but read the books below and remember a great man.
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