THE GUY NOT TAKEN, in a lovely, portable, beach-friendly paperback, is in bookstores, Target, and finer drug and grocery stores now!

It was in all of those places on Tuesday, and I would have let you know, except that we were moving, and were without cable, TiVo or Internet access. It was like "Little House on the Prairie." I was ready to have the girl go outside and cut strips of sod while we ate rendered pork fat by the light of kerosene lamps.

(Actually, my husband was able to hitch the DVD player up to our cable-less, TiVo-less TV set, and we watched "Lost" DVDs. And ate rendered pork fat).

It took a little longer than five days, but the Times' book blog has finally belched up its completely gratuitous Gary Shteyngart reference (if his book is just now being reviewed in England, it's new to you!).

I think I've finally cracked the paper's fascination with him: in the frat-house that is the Book Review, he is Bluto Blutarsky.

My own fascination's a little easier to explain: I just love saying his last name.

Jen