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No end to the making of books
There's a nice little street near me, Olive Ave, that is a kind of neighbourhood to itself. Has been having street parties for 20 years, long before anyone else thought of such things. I used to think it rather bare and forlorn in the greenery department, but time has taken care of that-- the trees are now tall enough, if nothing like as thick and umbrageous as those on Palmerston Gardens a block north. So now I walk along it on my exercise strolls and enjoy its cozy ambience.
There's another reason: it has the best lawn books in the neighbourhood. Today I came across a selection literally laid out on the lawn, not stacked in boxes as is the usual custom. This display method saves wear and tear on the books, because natch people tumble the boxed books around and bend pages and curl covers and so on. And I'm not supposed to pick up any more books, but---
So I copped Machiavelli's Prince, because I've never read it and hate reading online; and Walls' The Glass Castle, which I shall probably regret (it has a purple sticker saying 'Heather's Picks', Heather being the infinitely unpleasant owner of Indigo Books, known for her nouveau riche wretched excess); and finally The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy because, well, it's on all the lists. Reading tHGttG reveals why I haven't read it before. It was probably a fun radio series but it's going to take me an evening to read, even skimming, and I resent it.
So I suppose I should take my headache and my hot weather grumps back to that Japanese book on the Japanese language, the one with all those compounds that aren't in the Wordtank, just to underscore how bad my Japanese has become.
There's another reason: it has the best lawn books in the neighbourhood. Today I came across a selection literally laid out on the lawn, not stacked in boxes as is the usual custom. This display method saves wear and tear on the books, because natch people tumble the boxed books around and bend pages and curl covers and so on. And I'm not supposed to pick up any more books, but---
So I copped Machiavelli's Prince, because I've never read it and hate reading online; and Walls' The Glass Castle, which I shall probably regret (it has a purple sticker saying 'Heather's Picks', Heather being the infinitely unpleasant owner of Indigo Books, known for her nouveau riche wretched excess); and finally The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy because, well, it's on all the lists. Reading tHGttG reveals why I haven't read it before. It was probably a fun radio series but it's going to take me an evening to read, even skimming, and I resent it.
So I suppose I should take my headache and my hot weather grumps back to that Japanese book on the Japanese language, the one with all those compounds that aren't in the Wordtank, just to underscore how bad my Japanese has become.