i'm weak
i see vacation as a time to blow all the money i've tried to hoard during my working days. thus, seattle was a very expensive trip. this was not only because we were in a swank area where most food establishments set me back at least a lap dance per meal per person, but also because we were in a swank area that sought to have at least two bookshops, one tea house, and a toy store every two blocks.
i also bought a big aubergine shawl made from exploited alpacas. it's freaking cold in seattle, okay?
(in part over my guilt for spending so much money on a wrap, i started wearing the thing all the time. trying to get my money's worth out of it, you know? it's quickly becoming one of my favourite pieces of clothing, and a definite staple. it helps that it goes with everything; the colour is unusual enough to hold up to my bird of paradise coloured outfits, and close enough to grey to complement my neutrals)
but the books. oh, the books. i bought a medium stack of new books, which i usually stay away from. when it comes to reading, i vastly prefer used. good condition used, but still... there's something about handling a book that you know has been read before. the pages are comfortable, and fit into my hands with greater ease. reading a used book is like trying on a pair of hiking boots--or blue jeans, or a leather jacket--and finding that they're effortlessly comfortable.
either that, or it's like sex. i don't particularly desire virgins because i don't want to train someone new and because i don't want to hurt anyone. cracking a new book's spine is like having sex with a virgin. i like my lovers--and my literature--used.
however. in seattle there lives a bookstore that is apparently the only one in the world that still has copies of neil gaiman's blueberry girl. i walked around the shop with it for about an hour before i convinced myself that i do not, do not, do NOT need a first run, first edition copy of the thing. i would never sell it, so it doesn't matter if i eventually end up with a less valuable edition. and i read it in the store, so i'd already had that lovely experience.
this was the second day. the third day i talked about going back, but, after much discussion and a full roster of activities, ran out of time. this is actually a good system for me, the putting things back and then returning for them (or not) later. it's a good measure of how much i want it. if i truly want something, i'll go to the effort of returning to the store and buying it. if i don't come back, then it was nothing more than an impulse, and i'm better off without it.
the fourth day i went home.
today i went to the store's website and bought it online.
i also bought a big aubergine shawl made from exploited alpacas. it's freaking cold in seattle, okay?
(in part over my guilt for spending so much money on a wrap, i started wearing the thing all the time. trying to get my money's worth out of it, you know? it's quickly becoming one of my favourite pieces of clothing, and a definite staple. it helps that it goes with everything; the colour is unusual enough to hold up to my bird of paradise coloured outfits, and close enough to grey to complement my neutrals)
but the books. oh, the books. i bought a medium stack of new books, which i usually stay away from. when it comes to reading, i vastly prefer used. good condition used, but still... there's something about handling a book that you know has been read before. the pages are comfortable, and fit into my hands with greater ease. reading a used book is like trying on a pair of hiking boots--or blue jeans, or a leather jacket--and finding that they're effortlessly comfortable.
either that, or it's like sex. i don't particularly desire virgins because i don't want to train someone new and because i don't want to hurt anyone. cracking a new book's spine is like having sex with a virgin. i like my lovers--and my literature--used.
however. in seattle there lives a bookstore that is apparently the only one in the world that still has copies of neil gaiman's blueberry girl. i walked around the shop with it for about an hour before i convinced myself that i do not, do not, do NOT need a first run, first edition copy of the thing. i would never sell it, so it doesn't matter if i eventually end up with a less valuable edition. and i read it in the store, so i'd already had that lovely experience.
this was the second day. the third day i talked about going back, but, after much discussion and a full roster of activities, ran out of time. this is actually a good system for me, the putting things back and then returning for them (or not) later. it's a good measure of how much i want it. if i truly want something, i'll go to the effort of returning to the store and buying it. if i don't come back, then it was nothing more than an impulse, and i'm better off without it.
the fourth day i went home.
today i went to the store's website and bought it online.