Thanks to Elvis Costello, I can't pay even the most casual visit to Chelsea without hearing a pressured and nasal voice in my head protesting it doesn't want to. Nor can I "watch the detectives," talk to anyone named Alison, work on my novel ("Every Day I Write the Book"), or cackle heartlessly at peace, love, and understanding. Even green shirts and red shoes are off limits, lest my day fall prey to one big voice-over by Declan Patrick MacManus.
Most scandalously, I'm worried I'll never be able to pick up Jennifer Egan's A Visit From the Goon Squad -- a book I'm very much looking forward to reading -- till I find a solution for this problem. Will hiding it behind a different book jacket suffice? Must I blast non-Elvis music on the stereo when I crack open the spine? Solutions, if you have any, are most welcome. Because I do my best to keep my head free of this stuff, but hey -- accidents will happen.