Book Reviews by Miss Anna B. Kirk
I finished Bradbury's Something Wicked. I'm still not impressed. It was so cheesy (mmm.... cheese), and it lacked substance. Maybe I'm just not smart enough to *get* it.
Now I'm reading A Confederacy of Dunces. I'm only on page 14 and I have laughed my face off 9 times. Seriously. Everyone should read this. It stinkin' rocks.
I'm also reading C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity... still in the Preface, but I love love love C. S. Lewis. Wow. If I believed that we would be floating on clouds, chatting it
up with people in heaven, I would totally say that I want to talk to Lewis. But first Jimmy Stewart. Or Cary Grant. Yum.
And, I'm still stuck in Foxe's Book of Martyrs. I was an idiot and got the stupid modern-day-english version, but it's so easy to read that I can't stand to read it. I'm sure it will get better, though. I still bawl at the end of every chapter when the burning takes place. Ouch.
Matthew and I went to Coldwater the other day, and they had a little book of Mary and Percy Shelley's journal things. It was small and cute and would look fantabulous on my bookshelf. I'm willing to marry anyone who will buy me this.
Arg, marry.
I don't want my engagement ring to be a diamond. Am I stupid? I hate following the crowd. Nothing else about me is the same as everyone else... why should my engagement ring be?
(Why am I even worrying about this?)
I went to Deshler's Graduation last night. I wore the dress I wore to Muscle Shoals Graduation. In 2001. Yes, my ravishing good looks never go out of style.
I feel like complaining, but I really don't have anything to complain about.
I think I'll clean the bathroom.
Now I'm reading A Confederacy of Dunces. I'm only on page 14 and I have laughed my face off 9 times. Seriously. Everyone should read this. It stinkin' rocks.
I'm also reading C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity... still in the Preface, but I love love love C. S. Lewis. Wow. If I believed that we would be floating on clouds, chatting it
up with people in heaven, I would totally say that I want to talk to Lewis. But first Jimmy Stewart. Or Cary Grant. Yum.
And, I'm still stuck in Foxe's Book of Martyrs. I was an idiot and got the stupid modern-day-english version, but it's so easy to read that I can't stand to read it. I'm sure it will get better, though. I still bawl at the end of every chapter when the burning takes place. Ouch.
Matthew and I went to Coldwater the other day, and they had a little book of Mary and Percy Shelley's journal things. It was small and cute and would look fantabulous on my bookshelf. I'm willing to marry anyone who will buy me this.
Arg, marry.
I don't want my engagement ring to be a diamond. Am I stupid? I hate following the crowd. Nothing else about me is the same as everyone else... why should my engagement ring be?
(Why am I even worrying about this?)
I went to Deshler's Graduation last night. I wore the dress I wore to Muscle Shoals Graduation. In 2001. Yes, my ravishing good looks never go out of style.
I feel like complaining, but I really don't have anything to complain about.
I think I'll clean the bathroom.