A book is most seductive on the shelf. It tarts and tramps, tempting you to take it home. Then, sitting on the desk, before getting shelved, that's kind of like the dating phase. You're constantly paying attention to it and thinking about it, even if you aren't reading it at that moment. Eventually it moves to the bookshelf and a long-term relationship: you want to pick it up just as much, but you know there's no real hurry. Once the sequels start coming out, you're committed for life, and you just can't stop your collection from expanding nearly on its own. I think that if I weren't such a passionate reader, I'd have a hard time with monogamy; as it is, I get to flirt at least once a month and call myself more educated for my trouble.
Ahem. Anyhow. I really should shelve the new books I bought, but I kind of want to read them first. All of them. At once.
In other news, Faith's birthday party last night was a lot of fun. I was worried I wasn't going to make it, because I'd promised my mother I would go to a lecture by four "new young Jewish writers" who were, well, all Jewish and writers at the very least, though the oldest seemed around forty and at least two of them had published more than one book. One of the speakers was a friend of mine from college, though, whose first novel has gotten quite a bit of attention, so it was neat to see her. I should admit to more than a slight twinge of jealousy, too, but there was more glad than jealous and that's a good thing.
The birthday party ended up starting a bit later than planned so I caught up with the group at Hooters (and if going from Makor to Hooters wasn't culture shock, I don't know what is) and proceeded to have two large drinks, which put me well past tipsy, and things only got worse from there as we headed to a bar. maastrictian reports that I really, really wanted to go to the bookstore (where I tried to buy the new Legends collection and a book of lesbian erotica, and was only prevented by main force) and that I really, really wanted a piece of pizza (and I vaguely remember having a long conversation with some guy in a tux in the hole-in-the-wall pizza joint where I finally got my wish). Fortunately I don't get hung over, and I managed to get myself out of bed pretty much on time today. Not that it helped - I've had one of my least productive days in recent memory - but at least I was staring into space instead of sleeping.
I did achieve one thing today, other than washing multiple back loads of dishes: I finally got to see The Triplets of Belleville, which was as delightful as advertised. It was superbly charming, satirical and witty, and I adored the eponymous triplets and their choice of both musical instruments and weapons. The only fly in my ointment was that I absolutely could not stand that monomanaical, self-centered, selfish little pig of a bicyclist who let his grandmother drag herself around taking care of him without ever showing a drop of emotion that wasn't for himself. Fortunately, he spends much of the movie off-stage, and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute that he wasn't around. (Yeah, yeah, I know that I'm oversensitive to women being exploited in the name of family obligation. Live with it.)