PFD is a collection of fiction and nonfiction that Coupland wrote back in the early 1990s. The book has three parts: Part One gathers 10 pieces that Coupland gathered while attending a series of Grateful Dead concerts at the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum in 1991. Part Two brings together works that focus on people and places, while Part Three unfolds a long 1994 piece that studies a famous LA county—Brentwood, home to OJ and Marilyn.

I read PFD over a few days during my breaktimes, half in my car and half in my bed. As usual, I was engaged by the uneasy familiarity I had with whatever subject he tackled. I know about the Grateful Dead but don't know what they look like or sound like. I know about drugs but haven't tried them. I know about Oakland, since my eldest sister passes by that area everyday on her way to work. I know about Vancouver, East Berlin, Bahamas, Palo Alto, Los Alamos, and Washington, DC, but I haven't been there during any part of my life or other lives.

One unusual piece that caught my fancy was "Letter to Kurt Cobain." An unsent letter, which Coupland found in his PowerBook in April 1994. A letter unread by the rightful recipient, yet read by thousands of others by this time. Signed "D.", the letter spoke of the time when Mr. Cobain first entered the American Hospital in Rome for taking too many sedatives. It spoke of the recovery that raised everyone's hopes and the sudden death that touched every fan and non-fan via when the news came over the radio.

Coupland wrote to Mr. Cobain: "You, this child of here, of newness, lost in the oldest of cities. It seemed cruel."

How familiar, I think. It all makes sense now, don't you think?

I found a handy and handsome book written by Aldo Buzzi, an Italian writer and an excellent cultural journalist. The book was translated from the original Italian (two books).

In it are four lengthy essays which are a delight to read in bed or during a trip. And each piece travels not only around several countries but several centuries worth of distilled knowledge of culture, literary anecdotes, and gastronomy.

Somehow, it provides me an opportunity to romanticize about being able to do what Buzzi did, hop around Europe and dine on anti-restaurant cuisine, speaking broken French or Italian, quoting from the Western Classics.

Of course, Buzzi does not write so much of recipes or Michelin reviews, but he does speak of dining as a part of his cultural adventures, as he liberally quotes Chekhov and other writers (and philosophers). It is light reading and can provide a couple of hours' worth of refreshing and fine writing.