Well red...*

Ahhh. A book. A novel. A...thing...filled with paper and words. Is there anything better in this world?

Well, yes, frankly. Television's pretty good at the moment. Watching a film's nice too. Bit of easily digestible escapism. Can't beat that.

But books are good too...

Actually, food's great. I love food. It doesn't even need to be gourmet...or good really. Just cooked...or raw. Just in front of me.

Yep. Food is awesome.

But books rank pretty high on my list of things that are great.

Well, not pretty high...but it is on the list. Near the middle. Lower-middle.

Let's just say I respect books a lot, and who doesn't? You see a person reading a book and you start thinking to yourself, 'Wow. That's impressive. Someone's reading a book.'

Not exactly awe-inspiring but there's some envy there. I am dreadfully envious of people who read. These people who can distract themselves from all the immediate pleasures that this universe has to offer and bury themselves in words and take a journey to...blah, blah. I can do the same thing watching a television program without the pesky business of over-exerting my eyes 'reading' words and hurting my head using my 'imagination'. Come on. Be realistic.

But I do struggle with reading...not the reading itself...I'm top notch at that...but the actual reading of a book. I get started...I'm loving it...exposition, characters and all that malarkey...but then about halfway through or even a third of the way through...I get bored with the whole endeavour. I lose interest. I lose the motivation to keep trekking through the wonderland of the written word. I put my tissue-bookmark on the page, close the book with a sigh of finality and inevitability and leave it on my bedside table to gather dust for the following weeks as it stares back at me with contempt at my literary impotence, until finally and desperately I put it back with its brothers and sisters in the bookcase where they can gossip to each other about my lack of sensitivity, roughness of touch and short attention span. Screw them all. Books, I mean.

It's funny though...I love books. I do. I love to buy books, especially with nice covers that look good in bookshelves... and give off an impression to visitors or strangers in my home (and even to me) that I am well read, intelligent, etc...and that's crazy...I don't need books to show people that I'm etcetera...I'm etcetera all the friggin' time...it's like my defining characteristic:

'Boy that James Antonas really is etcetera, isn't he?'

'Yeah! Totally! Too much so I'd say!'

'You think?'

'Yeah...a bit...but it's awkward...I can't really bring it up, you know? I mean, how you raise that with someone...'Dude I think you better tone down that etcetera...there's children present.' It just wouldn't work and then he'd get all diva-y and call off our friendship for the 23rd time!'

'He's a douche.'

'Yeah...but at least he's well read.'


*Please note the intentional ironic misspelling of the word 'read' in the title...actually...is it ironic? I sometimes think people use the word ironic without knowing if what they're commenting on is actually ironic...I think some people say 'It's ironic' or 'I'm being ironic!' sarcastically...which then makes me think 'Are they being ironic in saying that they're being ironic?' because if they had said 'I'm being ironic' without the tone of sarcasm I would appreciate that they may in fact have been ironic...not a sarcastic git. Because, come on, outside of blogs...who really drops the i-bomb in casual conversation? No one, that's who...or complete deadbeat beatnik skinny-jean and plaid shirt wearing bespectacled hipsters! **


**I'm being ironic