So, I've wanted to join a book club FOREVER, but my being out of school for so long, paired with the large amount of books I already have sitting on my shelf (some of them still waiting to be opened after 5+ years), has prevented me from doing so.
Are any of you in a book club? What would you recommend for the someone like me who is craving bookish socialization, but who also likes to follow her own reading agenda?
If this one has like a "beginner level," I think I could get into it -- I think I've even brought it up before...
http://www.lkwdpl.org/bookclubs/knitlit.htm
Anybody out there in Lakewood who wants to do this with me (pending, of course, that my work schedule can be rearranged on Tuesdays)?
Lemme know! :)
Showing posts with label Ponderings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ponderings. Show all posts
Read It Again!
The most reliable demand of my childhood. "Read it again, Mom!...Again, Dad!" Whenever I picked up a book, you could bet that I'd be reading it again in an hour...a day...a week...and so on as I grew.
One of my best girlfriends from gradeschool once asked me why I was rereading something. She hardly ever reread books. But the books I read were The Animorphs. She read Jane Eyre, and The Lord of the Rings, and who knows what other giant novels. And let's face it, giant novels are daunting. The thought of rereading them, even your favorites, can be discouraging. I remember reading in one of the Baby-sitters Club books that Kristy's grandmother rereads Gone with the Wind once every year. I read Gone with the Wind and it took me a year to get through. But ever since I read that Baby-sitters Club book (damn you, Ann M. Martin for writing so well for an audience like me), I wanted to have a book like that. One I loved so much that I could reread it once a year and never be sick of it.
Sure, I have Charlotte's Web and The Outsiders...but not since I became an adult have I found a rereadable book that fits the once-a-year must-read criteria. And in truth, my thirst for new reads surpassed my yearning for old favorites around the time I turned 15.
So what do you do when you dream of the perfect book? I need recommendations stat. What are your rereadables? How do I get back in the swing of it? Halp!
One of my best girlfriends from gradeschool once asked me why I was rereading something. She hardly ever reread books. But the books I read were The Animorphs. She read Jane Eyre, and The Lord of the Rings, and who knows what other giant novels. And let's face it, giant novels are daunting. The thought of rereading them, even your favorites, can be discouraging. I remember reading in one of the Baby-sitters Club books that Kristy's grandmother rereads Gone with the Wind once every year. I read Gone with the Wind and it took me a year to get through. But ever since I read that Baby-sitters Club book (damn you, Ann M. Martin for writing so well for an audience like me), I wanted to have a book like that. One I loved so much that I could reread it once a year and never be sick of it.
Sure, I have Charlotte's Web and The Outsiders...but not since I became an adult have I found a rereadable book that fits the once-a-year must-read criteria. And in truth, my thirst for new reads surpassed my yearning for old favorites around the time I turned 15.
So what do you do when you dream of the perfect book? I need recommendations stat. What are your rereadables? How do I get back in the swing of it? Halp!
Share Stuff...Monday?!
(Title links to A Journey Journal of Sorts' most recent post on romantic beach reads -- I found the entry quite charming, so I'm sharing it with you today!)
Speaking of love affairs, I spent the majority of my weekend reading, and it was FABULOUS. It was so stickily hot and stormy outside...the perfect weather for curling up in a camping chair on the porch with a great book, letting the warm, dry breezes sweep over you. Too hot to do anything but relax and delve into a good story. A date with words.
And really, just like a whiff of someone's cologne can cause a fond tug on your heartstrings, there are certain times of day, or there is certain weather, or certain lighting, that bring to the surface a real craving for time with a good book. Then, just like you'd be completely wrapped up in a relationship, those times of day, or that weather, or that lighting can prompt you to get just as lost between the pages of your latest summer fling -- I mean, read.
For me, my nostalgic rendezvous with reading is usually inspired by two scenarios, the first being very specific: Mid- to late-afternoon on a day that's been hot and sunny, but that's also had the building anticipation of a huge downpour. The sky is a clear, deep blue, but the white puffy clouds that have been gathering all day have increasingly violet underbellies. You can just feel the moisture in the air, and there's nothing better than looking up from your book to watch the storm roll in, release the rain, and roll back out.
The second is on first waking up to the light outside your window -- a bright, sunny morning. It can be early morning or late morning. And you know that all you want to do right then, before you shower or anything, is to pick up your book right where you left off the night before. To open the blinds a little, maybe even the window if it's a sweet, breezy day, let the sunlight be your lamp and just get lost for an hour or two. It's like being able to choose a great dream. Snuggling under the covers and smelling the air blowing through your window screen. Now that is pure romance.
What turns you on?
Speaking of love affairs, I spent the majority of my weekend reading, and it was FABULOUS. It was so stickily hot and stormy outside...the perfect weather for curling up in a camping chair on the porch with a great book, letting the warm, dry breezes sweep over you. Too hot to do anything but relax and delve into a good story. A date with words.
And really, just like a whiff of someone's cologne can cause a fond tug on your heartstrings, there are certain times of day, or there is certain weather, or certain lighting, that bring to the surface a real craving for time with a good book. Then, just like you'd be completely wrapped up in a relationship, those times of day, or that weather, or that lighting can prompt you to get just as lost between the pages of your latest summer fling -- I mean, read.
For me, my nostalgic rendezvous with reading is usually inspired by two scenarios, the first being very specific: Mid- to late-afternoon on a day that's been hot and sunny, but that's also had the building anticipation of a huge downpour. The sky is a clear, deep blue, but the white puffy clouds that have been gathering all day have increasingly violet underbellies. You can just feel the moisture in the air, and there's nothing better than looking up from your book to watch the storm roll in, release the rain, and roll back out.
The second is on first waking up to the light outside your window -- a bright, sunny morning. It can be early morning or late morning. And you know that all you want to do right then, before you shower or anything, is to pick up your book right where you left off the night before. To open the blinds a little, maybe even the window if it's a sweet, breezy day, let the sunlight be your lamp and just get lost for an hour or two. It's like being able to choose a great dream. Snuggling under the covers and smelling the air blowing through your window screen. Now that is pure romance.
What turns you on?
Peter Pan Me, Please
Oy vey. I must say, I've been much more focused on new summer clothes, fashion, fragrance, fine food, and finally, FINALLY having enough money to pay off my credit card (yay!) to think much about the world of books this month. I have still been reading up a storm, though, and that Secret Life review will be coming up quicker than you think (or than I planned). I've actually already finished the book. However, I'm making a point this time to read the appendices, as they diverge from the usual list format and are actually giving me more information about the author's sources, and consequently, about Marilyn.
Reading about a woman who is portrayed as never having truly grown up, and with summer fast approaching, I'm in the mood for light, dependable kids' books. The B/F and I often have rather emphatic debates about age-appropriate reading material: when is it time to bite the bullet and stop reading books written for a younger audience?
The B/F will tell you that as you grow up, it's time to move on to more and more grown-up subject matter. Like in phases, I guess. What bothers me is when he tells me you can't go back.
What are you talking about? Of course you can go back. I know the way well. Right back through all the bestsellers, chick lit, fiction, non-fiction, romance novels, fantasy/sci-fi, cookbooks, history, social science, and self-help, to land smack in the middle of the young adult section. Or maybe even the children's section. And sometimes even the infants' section! (Don't deny it. That bunny tail will always be so nice and soft to touch.)
Sure, depending on how far back you go, you might look just slightly ridiculous. But, when I browse those sections, I usually find that people think I'm there looking for a gift. No need to feel embarrassed. Sometimes you need simplicity in your head. I can't think of a better way to get there than to read a children's book. It's not like no one else is doing it.
So, obviously, my unshakable answer to The B/F's protests? Never. You are never too old for a kids' book. Look at the success of Twilight among adults -- or Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Heck, are you going to tell me you wouldn't sit down to read the first Captain Underpants from cover to cover if you had the chance?
Kids' books are great because they don't hide anything. You know exactly what you're getting. There is not much guessing, not much reading between the lines. This might sound backwards, or incredibly lazy, but every once in awhile, it's just so refreshing to have everything spelled out for you. It's like therapy.
The feeling of nostalgia I get when I re-read a FAVORITE kids' book is the BEST. Oh, there are so many. The Rough-Faced Girl. Ramona the Pest. The Pinballs. Henry and Mudge. Clifford the Big Red Dog. Clifford the Small Red Puppy. Charlotte's Web. The Stupids Die. Strega Nona. The Store-Bought Doll. Thundercake. The Baby-sitters Club. Spider Saves Easter. The Sweet Smell of Christmas. Oh, The Sweet Smell of Christmas. That book was amazing.
Last fall when we took a trip with my family down to our favorite beach vacation spot, The B.F. and I ventured into the local bookstore (I still have no idea what it's called, even though I've been inside it at least once during every trip of the 9+ years my family has vacationed there), and THERE IT WAS. An entire display of children's books, stacked with literally most of my favorites. I wanted to ask how much for the whole five shelves. The B.F. just stood, shuffling his feet, watching me melt, prodding me to leave them. But how could I? How could I leave Hats for Sale? And Frog and Toad? And Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus? And Babe the Gallant Pig (way better than the movie, btw)? And Stone Soup? Seriously, you want me to put down Stone Soup? With the same cover I remember from my childhood? I honest-to-goodness got teary-eyed when I could see that The B/F didn't understand my feelings for those books, when they didn't touch him in the way they touched me.
Sometimes I think I want to have children just so I can buy books for them, then steal them and read them for myself. Under the covers. With a flashlight. We'll put the hall light on and turn the TV up in the other room just for effect. When books can bring you to that special place, the one that makes you feel so good and safe, the one you thought was nearly gone, that's when you know they are worth reading. That's what kids' books do for me.
And that's not so bad, is it?
Reading about a woman who is portrayed as never having truly grown up, and with summer fast approaching, I'm in the mood for light, dependable kids' books. The B/F and I often have rather emphatic debates about age-appropriate reading material: when is it time to bite the bullet and stop reading books written for a younger audience?
The B/F will tell you that as you grow up, it's time to move on to more and more grown-up subject matter. Like in phases, I guess. What bothers me is when he tells me you can't go back.
What are you talking about? Of course you can go back. I know the way well. Right back through all the bestsellers, chick lit, fiction, non-fiction, romance novels, fantasy/sci-fi, cookbooks, history, social science, and self-help, to land smack in the middle of the young adult section. Or maybe even the children's section. And sometimes even the infants' section! (Don't deny it. That bunny tail will always be so nice and soft to touch.)
Sure, depending on how far back you go, you might look just slightly ridiculous. But, when I browse those sections, I usually find that people think I'm there looking for a gift. No need to feel embarrassed. Sometimes you need simplicity in your head. I can't think of a better way to get there than to read a children's book. It's not like no one else is doing it.
So, obviously, my unshakable answer to The B/F's protests? Never. You are never too old for a kids' book. Look at the success of Twilight among adults -- or Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Heck, are you going to tell me you wouldn't sit down to read the first Captain Underpants from cover to cover if you had the chance?
Kids' books are great because they don't hide anything. You know exactly what you're getting. There is not much guessing, not much reading between the lines. This might sound backwards, or incredibly lazy, but every once in awhile, it's just so refreshing to have everything spelled out for you. It's like therapy.
The feeling of nostalgia I get when I re-read a FAVORITE kids' book is the BEST. Oh, there are so many. The Rough-Faced Girl. Ramona the Pest. The Pinballs. Henry and Mudge. Clifford the Big Red Dog. Clifford the Small Red Puppy. Charlotte's Web. The Stupids Die. Strega Nona. The Store-Bought Doll. Thundercake. The Baby-sitters Club. Spider Saves Easter. The Sweet Smell of Christmas. Oh, The Sweet Smell of Christmas. That book was amazing.
Last fall when we took a trip with my family down to our favorite beach vacation spot, The B.F. and I ventured into the local bookstore (I still have no idea what it's called, even though I've been inside it at least once during every trip of the 9+ years my family has vacationed there), and THERE IT WAS. An entire display of children's books, stacked with literally most of my favorites. I wanted to ask how much for the whole five shelves. The B.F. just stood, shuffling his feet, watching me melt, prodding me to leave them. But how could I? How could I leave Hats for Sale? And Frog and Toad? And Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus? And Babe the Gallant Pig (way better than the movie, btw)? And Stone Soup? Seriously, you want me to put down Stone Soup? With the same cover I remember from my childhood? I honest-to-goodness got teary-eyed when I could see that The B/F didn't understand my feelings for those books, when they didn't touch him in the way they touched me.
Sometimes I think I want to have children just so I can buy books for them, then steal them and read them for myself. Under the covers. With a flashlight. We'll put the hall light on and turn the TV up in the other room just for effect. When books can bring you to that special place, the one that makes you feel so good and safe, the one you thought was nearly gone, that's when you know they are worth reading. That's what kids' books do for me.
And that's not so bad, is it?
Books in the Bathroom: An Exercise in Sociology (Or Psychology. Some kind of -ology.)
*WARNING: A more delicate reader may feel slightly nauseated by the end of this post.*
We all remember the Seinfeld episode "The Bookstore." Jerry, George and Kramer are browsing in Brentano's when George announces, "I'm gonna hit the head." While Kramer and Jerry continue their conversation about rickshaws, the camera lights on George: he selects a large book of French Impressionist paintings from a shelf, and carries it with him into the men's room. In a subsequent scene, George emerges from the restroom and begins to place the book back on the shelf, but before he can do so, he is confronted by a Brentano's employee: "Did you take that book with you into the bathroom?" George blinks a few times before responding, "What do you want to hear?" He ends up having to purchase the book, which costs him $100...and that, we find out later in the show, Brentano's has permanently "flagged" so it can't be returned or donated. "How dare they?" George asks Jerry later at Monk's. "I got news for you. If it wasn't for the toilet, there would be no books."
I find this storyline hilarious and intriguing at the same time. Why are people so polarized when it comes to books in the bathroom? Being a bathroom-reader myself (I decided I am finally over the stigma -- and oh yes, there is a stigma), of course I don't see the problem. So in this respect, I am like George. At the same time, I know there are people out there who do have a problem with books in the bathroom. Refer back to "The Bookstore." In the middle of the episode, we see George trying to sell his flagged book of paintings to Elaine (at a $25 profit). Jerry walks in, sees the book, and exclaims, "What is that doing on the table?...I'm not eating anything in the vicinity of that book...That book has been on a wild ride. George took it into the bathroom..." Upon hearing this, Elaine loses it. "All right! Everyone clear!" she shouts as she stands up to exit, raising her arms. "Biohazard, coming through! Clear, clear!" This display brings George to ask Jerry, "May I ask, what do you read in the bathroom?" Jerry answers, "I don't read in the bathroom." George retorts, "Well, aren't you something."
So it's clear that people's opinions differ drastically on the subject. And while the Seinfeld episode is an excellent reflection of the feelings we see surrounding this issue, I decided to to see if I couldn't figure out first-hand what really drives the emotions behind the situation. Of course, I am not so over the stigma that I surveyed complete strangers, so these results are probably overwhelmingly biased. However, they are all anonymous, and so that should be good enough, right? I'm about as good at social science as I am at math. And speaking of math, this sentence is going to serve as my disclaimer on percentages.
Bear with me. Here come the results.
Lots of results. Lots of miscalculated percentages, but they are probably close enough. So if you can take it, here is what I learned:
I thought it was interesting that favorite colors weren't more reflective of personal decision/action regarding this issue. That was my most psychological question. I was more pleased with the results of the timetables question. It seems that those who do not read in the bathroom were quicker to say that though they like to meander during their free time, they do prefer some planning, even when out with friends. I was thinking the results would actually work out that way.
The most surprising result by far was that people who like to read in the bathroom seem to prefer to read indoors in general; and that those who do not read in the bathroom prefer to read outdoors. That was a stark contrast I was not expecting.
Another surprising result for me was the amount of time people spend in the bathroom for other reasons. It seems like those who read in the bathroom get their "bathroom time" in that way. Those who do not read in the bathroom utilize their "bathroom time" in other ways (such as getting ready for work). I am making an educated guess that both exercises are relaxing, but in different ways. For those who read in the bathroom, the reading is what relaxes them. For those who don't, they spend more time fixing their hair, doing makeup, showering...things that are necessary to their daily routine (schedules), but things that are also relaxing in their own way. Brushing teeth and hair can feel nice. Showering can definitely be relaxing. Putting on makeup can become an escape because of the concentration you have to put into it. Verrrry interesting, folks.
And I bet you'll all think twice now before borrowing a library book. Although I will say 50% is less than I expected for that category.
So what do you think? Are you a Jerry or a George? Were there any results that surprised you? Where will all this new-found knowledge take you next?
I don't know about you, but I'm headed to the bathroom.
We all remember the Seinfeld episode "The Bookstore." Jerry, George and Kramer are browsing in Brentano's when George announces, "I'm gonna hit the head." While Kramer and Jerry continue their conversation about rickshaws, the camera lights on George: he selects a large book of French Impressionist paintings from a shelf, and carries it with him into the men's room. In a subsequent scene, George emerges from the restroom and begins to place the book back on the shelf, but before he can do so, he is confronted by a Brentano's employee: "Did you take that book with you into the bathroom?" George blinks a few times before responding, "What do you want to hear?" He ends up having to purchase the book, which costs him $100...and that, we find out later in the show, Brentano's has permanently "flagged" so it can't be returned or donated. "How dare they?" George asks Jerry later at Monk's. "I got news for you. If it wasn't for the toilet, there would be no books."
I find this storyline hilarious and intriguing at the same time. Why are people so polarized when it comes to books in the bathroom? Being a bathroom-reader myself (I decided I am finally over the stigma -- and oh yes, there is a stigma), of course I don't see the problem. So in this respect, I am like George. At the same time, I know there are people out there who do have a problem with books in the bathroom. Refer back to "The Bookstore." In the middle of the episode, we see George trying to sell his flagged book of paintings to Elaine (at a $25 profit). Jerry walks in, sees the book, and exclaims, "What is that doing on the table?...I'm not eating anything in the vicinity of that book...That book has been on a wild ride. George took it into the bathroom..." Upon hearing this, Elaine loses it. "All right! Everyone clear!" she shouts as she stands up to exit, raising her arms. "Biohazard, coming through! Clear, clear!" This display brings George to ask Jerry, "May I ask, what do you read in the bathroom?" Jerry answers, "I don't read in the bathroom." George retorts, "Well, aren't you something."
So it's clear that people's opinions differ drastically on the subject. And while the Seinfeld episode is an excellent reflection of the feelings we see surrounding this issue, I decided to to see if I couldn't figure out first-hand what really drives the emotions behind the situation. Of course, I am not so over the stigma that I surveyed complete strangers, so these results are probably overwhelmingly biased. However, they are all anonymous, and so that should be good enough, right? I'm about as good at social science as I am at math. And speaking of math, this sentence is going to serve as my disclaimer on percentages.
Bear with me. Here come the results.
- There are more people who read in the bathroom than don't.
- Those who read in the bathroom do so: to pass the time; to continue reading something interesting; because it goes well with a bubble bath; because it is one of the few places/times where they can feel peaceful and secluded; because it is easier to concentrate on reading; because they do it out of habit; and to distract themselves from what they're really doing in the bathroom.
- Those who do not read in the bathroom do so: because it is not comfortable; because they have pets who follow them in that are better at entertaining them; because they are not in the bathroom long enough to read; and because the reading material they find in the bathroom usually does not interest them.
- Those who read books in the bathroom also like to read other materials in the bathroom, ranging from magazines and comics to toothpaste tubes and lotions.
- 50% of those polled who do not read books in the bathroom will read other materials if they are available in their own bathrooms -- every person included in that 50% mentioned bath & body products as "preferred" reading materials.
- 100% of those polled who read books in the bathroom like to read in general.
- 90% of those polled who do not read books in the bathroom like to read in general.
- Of those that read books in the bathroom, most are more comfortable reading indoors (on a couch or a bed, and in a bus station, car, or airport were the most popular answers).
- Of those that do not read books in the bathroom, most are more comfortable reading outdoors (on a blanket, at the beach or pool, in the sun, on a balcony, at a park). The second most popular reading location for those who do not read books in the bathroom was in bed.
- I found that the size of a person's bathroom is not a factor in their tendency to read books in the bathroom. Most everyone surveyed described their bathroom as "tiny," "small," or "not big."
- I found that approximate daily bathroom time (used for activities like showering, readying for work, etc.) is less for those who do read books in the bathroom -- between 15-30 minutes.
- I found that approximate daily bathroom time (used for activities like showering, readying for work, etc.) is more for those who do not read books in the bathroom -- between 30 minutes - 2 hours.
- I found that most of the people who do read books in the bathroom are either indifferent or do not care for the way their bathroom is decorated.
- I found that most of the people who do not read books in the bathroom are either indifferent or are happy with the way their bathroom is decorated.
- Of the people who do read books in the bathroom, 70% consider their bathroom a sanctuary. 30% consider it a place to get things done.
- Of the people who do not read books in the bathroom, 10% consider their bathroom a sanctuary. 90% consider it a place to get things done.
- Of the people who do read books in the bathroom, 70% currently do not take baths. 90% would read in the bath if (or when) they bathed.
- Of the people who do not read books in the bathroom, 80% do not take baths. 0% read in the bath. [COMMENTARY: there were a few respondents who said they listened to their iPod in the bath because they were afraid of getting a book's pages wet. But aren't iPods harder to replace if they get wet? Books dry out. Electronics just get ruined.]
- Of the people who read books in the bathroom, 90% prefer to meander through life when it's possible (excluding work). 10% prefer to keep schedules.
- Of the people who do not read books in the bathroom, 80% prefer to work with schedules, even for the occasional weekend plans. However, for free time (or "me-time"), 40% prefer to meander.
- I found that favorite colors/colors people are more attracted to do not have any bearing on the tendency to read in the bathroom. Most everyone surveyed listed blue, green, red, and purple as their favorite colors.
- I found that lighting in the bathroom has no bearing on whether or not people read in the bathroom. Even those with poor lighting read in the bathroom. 90% of people who do not read in the bathroom have good lighting.
- 80% of those who do read books in the bathroom would not choose to watch movies or watch TV in the bathroom over reading.
- 40% of those who do not read books in the bathroom would choose to watch movies or TV in the bathroom over reading. 33% prefer movies/TV over books, 33% do not prefer movies/TV over books, and 33% are on the fence. I still don't exactly understand what happened to the remaining 1%, even after the B/F explained it to me.
- Of those who read books in the bathroom, 100% will read while they eat.
- Of those who do not read books in the bathroom, 50% will read while they eat.
- Of those who read books in the bathroom, 100% are likely to read materials in other people's bathrooms.
- Of those who do not read books in the bathroom, 10% are likely to read materials in other people's bathrooms.
- The people who do not read books in the bathroom say about those who read in the bathroom: don't take too long if I need to use the space; it's acceptable to read in the bathroom; don't leave books in the bathroom; reading on the toilet is gross; reading in the bath is acceptable.
- The people who read books in the bathroom say about themselves: it doesn't come up in conversation; close family know I do it; I hide my bathroom reading from non-family members; I do not hide my bathroom reading from non-family members.
- Everyone surveyed has a friend or friends that read books in the bathroom.
- 50% of people who do not read books in the bathroom buy their own books rather than borrow from the library.
- 50% of people who do read books in the bathroom prefer to buy their own books rather than borrow from the library.
- 50% of people who do read books in the bathroom read their library books in the bathroom.
- 50% of people who do read books in the bathroom have been late for things because they were reading in the bathroom.
- 0% of people who do not read books in the bathroom have been late for things because they were reading. 50% of people who do not read books in the bathroom have been late for things because of other bathroom activities (fixing hair was the number one reason mentioned).
- 0% of those who do not read books in the bathroom think they will ever start reading books in the bathroom.
- 100% of those who do read books in the bathroom believe they started reading in the bathroom at an early age (7-8 years old; as long as I can remember; 10 years old).
Lots of results. Lots of miscalculated percentages, but they are probably close enough. So if you can take it, here is what I learned:
I thought it was interesting that favorite colors weren't more reflective of personal decision/action regarding this issue. That was my most psychological question. I was more pleased with the results of the timetables question. It seems that those who do not read in the bathroom were quicker to say that though they like to meander during their free time, they do prefer some planning, even when out with friends. I was thinking the results would actually work out that way.
The most surprising result by far was that people who like to read in the bathroom seem to prefer to read indoors in general; and that those who do not read in the bathroom prefer to read outdoors. That was a stark contrast I was not expecting.
Another surprising result for me was the amount of time people spend in the bathroom for other reasons. It seems like those who read in the bathroom get their "bathroom time" in that way. Those who do not read in the bathroom utilize their "bathroom time" in other ways (such as getting ready for work). I am making an educated guess that both exercises are relaxing, but in different ways. For those who read in the bathroom, the reading is what relaxes them. For those who don't, they spend more time fixing their hair, doing makeup, showering...things that are necessary to their daily routine (schedules), but things that are also relaxing in their own way. Brushing teeth and hair can feel nice. Showering can definitely be relaxing. Putting on makeup can become an escape because of the concentration you have to put into it. Verrrry interesting, folks.
And I bet you'll all think twice now before borrowing a library book. Although I will say 50% is less than I expected for that category.
So what do you think? Are you a Jerry or a George? Were there any results that surprised you? Where will all this new-found knowledge take you next?
I don't know about you, but I'm headed to the bathroom.
Book Guilt
"I love paperback too, except when I borrow it from a friend. Seems it always comes to me in pristine condition, especially from one fastidious friend, and I just KNOW it's going to be looking dogeared and disheveled when I give it back! Book guilt. Perhaps the best kind."Does anyone else suffer from the seemingly incurable Book Guilt? The above quote is actually a comment from not undecided, left on my very first blog post here at the 1kDEP. I've been meaning to write about this for some time, because I feel it is a fairly universal experience.
I've mentioned before my history of book sabotage. Stains, wrinkles, tears, even corners nibbled away by my guinea pig. A book that falls into my lap is doomed from the beginning. No matter how careful I am, a book I read will never remain in the same condition in which it starts. (This applies even to hardcovers. I don't know how many book jackets I've lost.)
My college roommate, who is self-diagnosed with the same condition, softens the reality of the situation by saying she "makes love" to her books. I am less subtle. If she makes love to them, then I fuck them hardcore. She got me this journal for Christmas a few years back, attractively titled Wreck This Journal. I think it was meant for readers like me to take all their rage out on this one book, and quit bullying the others in their collection. Great idea -- that book is a mess. But I still can't stop ruining everything else I read.
Now, my own books I have no problem screwing up. I carry them everywhere because I love them. They become like my security blanket. They are mine, I bought them, I adore them, and if I ever read them again, I can look at those stains or those pig nibbles and remember how great it was to read the book the first time through. The wounds to the pages are like badges of honor.
However. As a consequence of my habitual display of affection, I become that much more terrified to even touch the books belonging to other people. It really is like being in a relationship. A sick sick relationship. Imagine I'd dated the B/F for so long, it gave me a weird feeling to even shake the hand of some other guy. That's how I am with books. I know how to treat my own, I know what they can take, and what their limits are. But other people's books are so foreign. I don't know how to handle them, so I avoid handling them at all. Plus what if I came across some of their book stains? It's like walking in on them. It's weird. And so whenever someone asks me if I'd like to borrow their copy of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, or Ariel, or Beaches, I immediately shy away, waving my hand, saying, "Oh, no, that's ok. I'll just ruin it." What makes it worse is that they never believe me. People who own books love to let other people borrow them. But they have no idea what I'm capable of.
Thus, Book Guilt. Months ago, I finally built up some courage and borrowed a book from not undecided, which she'd recommended to me via Shelfari -- The Secret Life of Bees. Turns out she'd actually borrowed it from her sister. Double whammy. The book was already pretty well worn, but I handled it with my kiddiest of kid gloves anyway, and made sure to worry the entire time I was reading it. Don't forget this isn't yours. You have to give this back to somebody. This has to look good. I don't think I ever put my whole palm on that book the entire time I was reading it. Fingertips only. But you know what? I got it back to her sister in relatively the same condition in which it'd been lent to me. That was the first time that ever happened to me.
So maybe you can overcome the book guilt after all. I smell a New Year's resolution.
There Are Two Sides...
From what I'm reading, everyone loves their Kindle. From the first DX model to the second-generation Kindle 2, the e-book reader by Amazon appears sleeker, lighter, more user-friendly, and more versatile than the competing brands by Sony or Barnes & Noble. You can even use it internationally now. My personal favorite function of the Kindle 2 (if I had one) would be the built-in dictionary. I think I would use that for every "page."
The Kindle has been hailed as the "future of reading." By whom, I'm not sure. I can't find the exact quote anywhere online. I'm sure the Amazon marketing people could.
The Kindle is supposed to be the beginning of a brand new culture of book-lovers. One where we do all of our reading on computerized screens...but we're no longer limited to cords and outlets and CPUs. We can take our electronic reading devices anywhere, and buy books whenever we want. I'm not necessarily for that type of culture, exactly, but if that's where the world is headed, I don't know if I'd be unmovable. I like new ideas, and I've been kind of interested in this whole green technology thing lately. I mean, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it? To have books stored in an electronic device rather than on our bookshelves?
Ok, maybe it would be. Thinking of my house without actual books in it makes me a little shaky and my heart rate goes up. I also don't think I'd want to take any kind of e-reader to a beach, even though the girl in the Amazon ad portrays that as a completely normal Kindle 2 activity. What do you do when you get sand in the minuscule cracks where it's put together? I can't even get sand out of my bathing suit, let alone a Kindle. And then there's this:
I was sitting in the cafeteria at work today, eating lunch with friends, when one of them brought up something I had never even thought to consider. Amazon's e-book reader is called the Kindle. The Kindle. "Yeah," I said. "You know...it, like, sparks your imagination. Ignites education and creativity! [And sales.]"
Wrong.
The Kindle.
According to my friend, it turns out the hottest tech toy of 2009 is actually some well-laid subliminal plot to get all us consumers to ditch paper books forever. FOREVER. The Kindle. Kindling. Book burning. The figurative book burning of a culture of readers, to be exact. My culture. And it will probably go down in history as the biggest, most successful book burning of all. Why? Because I can't even see the Kindle for its own name. We're so enthralled with the concept, we're missing the consequences. And its name.
As I stated in a past post, book burning is viewed as a form of violence against a culture; it serves a demonstrative purpose, as a way for an oppressive power to force its influence onto a group of people. I just bought three CDs from Amazon today. Am I feeding the fire? Should Amazon be viewed as a brutal regime, out to quash my appreciation for "real" books?
Or is Amazon a friend to the forests, and the Kindle just a vehicle for expression? Is their purpose simply to keep us all up-to-date, current with not only the trends in reading and technology, but in business, and with communication tools, too?
And on top of all of this, to properly sort things out, you then have to ask the question: "What makes a book?" Is it really the paper and binding? Or is it the words? Is it the message? Or a combination of all of it? When did reading get this complicated?
So do you have a Kindle, or another e-book reader? Whose side are you on? Are you a good witch or a bad witch?
And where are we going now?
The Kindle has been hailed as the "future of reading." By whom, I'm not sure. I can't find the exact quote anywhere online. I'm sure the Amazon marketing people could.
The Kindle is supposed to be the beginning of a brand new culture of book-lovers. One where we do all of our reading on computerized screens...but we're no longer limited to cords and outlets and CPUs. We can take our electronic reading devices anywhere, and buy books whenever we want. I'm not necessarily for that type of culture, exactly, but if that's where the world is headed, I don't know if I'd be unmovable. I like new ideas, and I've been kind of interested in this whole green technology thing lately. I mean, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it? To have books stored in an electronic device rather than on our bookshelves?
Ok, maybe it would be. Thinking of my house without actual books in it makes me a little shaky and my heart rate goes up. I also don't think I'd want to take any kind of e-reader to a beach, even though the girl in the Amazon ad portrays that as a completely normal Kindle 2 activity. What do you do when you get sand in the minuscule cracks where it's put together? I can't even get sand out of my bathing suit, let alone a Kindle. And then there's this:
I was sitting in the cafeteria at work today, eating lunch with friends, when one of them brought up something I had never even thought to consider. Amazon's e-book reader is called the Kindle. The Kindle. "Yeah," I said. "You know...it, like, sparks your imagination. Ignites education and creativity! [And sales.]"
Wrong.
The Kindle.
According to my friend, it turns out the hottest tech toy of 2009 is actually some well-laid subliminal plot to get all us consumers to ditch paper books forever. FOREVER. The Kindle. Kindling. Book burning. The figurative book burning of a culture of readers, to be exact. My culture. And it will probably go down in history as the biggest, most successful book burning of all. Why? Because I can't even see the Kindle for its own name. We're so enthralled with the concept, we're missing the consequences. And its name.
As I stated in a past post, book burning is viewed as a form of violence against a culture; it serves a demonstrative purpose, as a way for an oppressive power to force its influence onto a group of people. I just bought three CDs from Amazon today. Am I feeding the fire? Should Amazon be viewed as a brutal regime, out to quash my appreciation for "real" books?
Or is Amazon a friend to the forests, and the Kindle just a vehicle for expression? Is their purpose simply to keep us all up-to-date, current with not only the trends in reading and technology, but in business, and with communication tools, too?
And on top of all of this, to properly sort things out, you then have to ask the question: "What makes a book?" Is it really the paper and binding? Or is it the words? Is it the message? Or a combination of all of it? When did reading get this complicated?
So do you have a Kindle, or another e-book reader? Whose side are you on? Are you a good witch or a bad witch?
And where are we going now?
EmbarrASSed
I was watching an episode of Sex & the City today -- "Cover Girl." The girls are in a bookstore, helping Carrie research ideas for her new book cover while they browse for their own purchases. Charlotte is looking for a copy of Starting Over Yet Again, while Miranda searches for a book with a title like "How to Lose That Baby Fat While Sitting on Your Ass." Miranda settles on From Fat to Fit, but then decides against buying it when the sales clerk advises her to start Weight Watchers instead. Charlotte, nervous about being seen in the Self-Help section, decides to order her book online.
The episode got me thinking: we've all read something to make us feel uncomfortable. What books have I been embarrassed about reading in public? And why?
In college, my roommate and I took an LGBT-awareness class. Our first assignment was to buy Brian McNaught's Now That I'm Out, What Do I Do? somewhere other than the campus bookstore. The purpose was to put us in a place outside of our comfort zone, so we could understand what the LGBT community, their parents, and their friends go through when they go to buy the same books. My roommate shared with me that she did in fact feel a little embarrassed walking around the bookstore with it. She felt like she was being looked at differently. I remember being proud of myself for getting through the assignment with little to no feelings of shame. Now that I look back, I know I should have tried harder to put myself in others' shoes.
For me, the most recent book I can think of makes me ashamed to even bring up the story. Not because of the book itself, but because of the very fact that I was embarrassed to be seen with it. I am embarrassed for my embarrassment. Woman of Valor: Margaret Sanger and the Birth Control Movement in America, by Ellen Chesler, should not have caused these feelings to bubble up in me. I usually have no problem admitting to anyone, even strangers, that I consider myself a feminist. Yet there I was, keeping the book huddled against my chest every morning as I made the walk from the parking garage to my workplace.
It's amazing how once you're out of the safety of a college campus, all your ideals have to become...private. Inoffensive. The issue with me this time had to do with exactly that -- offensiveness. It was the abortion topic...or at least, that's how I was perceiving people perceiving me.
Honestly, my thinking was in line with Margaret's. I believe women should have a choice when it comes to their bodies, which is why I was so excited to find this book on the shelf. I was enthralled with Margaret Sanger and her story when I learned about her in my Philosophy of Women class. Her movement spoke to me. Her struggle to make birth control accessible and normalized for all women was something I could really look up to. Reading her biography, which promised to be just as accessible, would be like icing on the cake.
But reading the book about Margaret soon became my own struggle. The book was not as "readable" as the cover proclaimed. But not only that, I was finding out a lot about Ms. Sanger that was spoiling my idea of her. Who knew that role models could be human?
Anyway, it wasn't so much Margaret's personality that made me duck the book under my armpit as I walked the streets of Cleveland. I may be a feminist, but I know Margaret Sanger is an obscure enough name that no one would be offended by that alone. No, it was the rest of the title that I was hiding: The Birth Control Movement in America.
But why? Why did I care? I still can't explain it. Maybe it was the stereotypes. Maybe it was my own self-righteous opinion of myself. I did not want people to see me as a baby killer. Because I know that's not what pro-choice means. But the simple people on the street, they didn't. I am such an ass! I can't believe myself.
I stopped reading Woman of Valor. Not because of the embarrassment. It truly was just too hard to get through. The writing was too elevated. But the shame I feel now when realizing how embarrassed I was for reading that book is still going on.
I sort of meant to make this post more light-hearted. You know, talk about the trashy romance novels I also take care to hide in my purse when making the commute to the office. Or the fantasy fiction novels I enjoy with the dragons on the cover. But I think it was more important to make this other, more serious point to myself.
They say that if you assume something, you make an ass out of you and me. I found that it's true...and to be embarrassed about my reading choices just makes an ass out of, em, me.
The episode got me thinking: we've all read something to make us feel uncomfortable. What books have I been embarrassed about reading in public? And why?
In college, my roommate and I took an LGBT-awareness class. Our first assignment was to buy Brian McNaught's Now That I'm Out, What Do I Do? somewhere other than the campus bookstore. The purpose was to put us in a place outside of our comfort zone, so we could understand what the LGBT community, their parents, and their friends go through when they go to buy the same books. My roommate shared with me that she did in fact feel a little embarrassed walking around the bookstore with it. She felt like she was being looked at differently. I remember being proud of myself for getting through the assignment with little to no feelings of shame. Now that I look back, I know I should have tried harder to put myself in others' shoes.
For me, the most recent book I can think of makes me ashamed to even bring up the story. Not because of the book itself, but because of the very fact that I was embarrassed to be seen with it. I am embarrassed for my embarrassment. Woman of Valor: Margaret Sanger and the Birth Control Movement in America, by Ellen Chesler, should not have caused these feelings to bubble up in me. I usually have no problem admitting to anyone, even strangers, that I consider myself a feminist. Yet there I was, keeping the book huddled against my chest every morning as I made the walk from the parking garage to my workplace.
It's amazing how once you're out of the safety of a college campus, all your ideals have to become...private. Inoffensive. The issue with me this time had to do with exactly that -- offensiveness. It was the abortion topic...or at least, that's how I was perceiving people perceiving me.
Honestly, my thinking was in line with Margaret's. I believe women should have a choice when it comes to their bodies, which is why I was so excited to find this book on the shelf. I was enthralled with Margaret Sanger and her story when I learned about her in my Philosophy of Women class. Her movement spoke to me. Her struggle to make birth control accessible and normalized for all women was something I could really look up to. Reading her biography, which promised to be just as accessible, would be like icing on the cake.
But reading the book about Margaret soon became my own struggle. The book was not as "readable" as the cover proclaimed. But not only that, I was finding out a lot about Ms. Sanger that was spoiling my idea of her. Who knew that role models could be human?
Anyway, it wasn't so much Margaret's personality that made me duck the book under my armpit as I walked the streets of Cleveland. I may be a feminist, but I know Margaret Sanger is an obscure enough name that no one would be offended by that alone. No, it was the rest of the title that I was hiding: The Birth Control Movement in America.
But why? Why did I care? I still can't explain it. Maybe it was the stereotypes. Maybe it was my own self-righteous opinion of myself. I did not want people to see me as a baby killer. Because I know that's not what pro-choice means. But the simple people on the street, they didn't. I am such an ass! I can't believe myself.
I stopped reading Woman of Valor. Not because of the embarrassment. It truly was just too hard to get through. The writing was too elevated. But the shame I feel now when realizing how embarrassed I was for reading that book is still going on.
I sort of meant to make this post more light-hearted. You know, talk about the trashy romance novels I also take care to hide in my purse when making the commute to the office. Or the fantasy fiction novels I enjoy with the dragons on the cover. But I think it was more important to make this other, more serious point to myself.
They say that if you assume something, you make an ass out of you and me. I found that it's true...and to be embarrassed about my reading choices just makes an ass out of, em, me.
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