Words, words... words! Books, and what's wrong with them.
How many times I have heard people declare, "I don't read." It's really stupid. Ever since Hollywood got crazy with how many popular books they immediately turned into movies. No, maybe ever since tv. I am constantly feeling like an oddball for doing things like reading. People are suddenly treating reading like something they no longer have to do, like books are things that, oh thank god they don't have to deal with anymore.
I was sitting under a tree this afternoon, with co-workers, waiting to be needed (because we were early), so I was reading The Other Boleyn Girl (yes, I'm still reading it. Shut up. [Then again, I don't think I've ever mentioned on lj exactly how long it is taking me to read this damn book. I started reading it winter break, and have been on and off with it ever since. I'm about 3/5ths of the way through now. Ugh. Then again, don't even get me started on Bob Dylan's Chronicles. I was reading that book the day I got my headshots done, in the fall of 07. I was reading it in the Cafe Edgar, and then I was reading it on the bench in the street divider where that woman took a piss. I've sort of forgotten to read any more of it.])
But ANYWAY! I was reading The Other Boleyn Girl when one of my co-workers says, sort of mockingly, "Get enough reading done? hah hah..." and I just sort of smiled awkwardly, shrugged and said that I was reading... because I... couldn't think of anything else to say. And then he asked the dreaded question that made me want to punch him in the face: "What's it for?" It was not meant as an existential question; rather, he wanted to know why I was reading that particular book, what sort of summer course or project or assignment was I obligated to read the book for? and I told him, "I'm just...reading it." again. I said the same thing. Not FOR anything. For ME!
Not only are people no longer reading books, but they also no longer understand why OTHER people read books. Gosh...
I was sitting under a tree this afternoon, with co-workers, waiting to be needed (because we were early), so I was reading The Other Boleyn Girl (yes, I'm still reading it. Shut up. [Then again, I don't think I've ever mentioned on lj exactly how long it is taking me to read this damn book. I started reading it winter break, and have been on and off with it ever since. I'm about 3/5ths of the way through now. Ugh. Then again, don't even get me started on Bob Dylan's Chronicles. I was reading that book the day I got my headshots done, in the fall of 07. I was reading it in the Cafe Edgar, and then I was reading it on the bench in the street divider where that woman took a piss. I've sort of forgotten to read any more of it.])
But ANYWAY! I was reading The Other Boleyn Girl when one of my co-workers says, sort of mockingly, "Get enough reading done? hah hah..." and I just sort of smiled awkwardly, shrugged and said that I was reading... because I... couldn't think of anything else to say. And then he asked the dreaded question that made me want to punch him in the face: "What's it for?" It was not meant as an existential question; rather, he wanted to know why I was reading that particular book, what sort of summer course or project or assignment was I obligated to read the book for? and I told him, "I'm just...reading it." again. I said the same thing. Not FOR anything. For ME!
Not only are people no longer reading books, but they also no longer understand why OTHER people read books. Gosh...