I really love to read, but I find myself having less and less time to do it.  I mean, when your life is filled with countless trips to the gym (ha!) and catching up on what stupid program I have on my DVR (16 and Pregnant anyone? My Siamese Twin Is Evil And Trying To Ruin My Life?  Ok – that one isn’t real, but it sounds like something Discovery would air) it’s kind of hard to find time. 

If it’s a book that catches my full attention, in those rare instances, then I’ll make exceptions and spend most of my night reading when I kick off the high heels after work.  The last book that did this to me was…oh man, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this…the Twilight series. 

“Shame on you, you poser English Major.  Now go find yourself some Homer and show me whatcha’ workin’ with.”

Anyhow – I didn’t particularly care for the Twilight books.  Let me explain.  It’s how I assume a drug user feels about a particular drug.  They’re addicted.  That doesn’t mean it’s good for them.  So, in essence, Twilight is the literary version of, say, crack. 

It’s terribly written and I thought my eyes were on perma-roll with each melodramatic scene.  But I couldn’t resist.  Again, crack.*

And, well, Edward IS sorta dreamy.  And I AM aware that saying that sounds incredibly creepy, seeing as though I’m 26 and he’s a fictional character.  I’m just gonna stop talking about that book now.  Because I can see I’m just digging a deeper hole of weirdness.  Apologies.

Anyhow, aside from my short stints into the land of tween romance, I do find time to read some pretty decent books.  You know how a lot of people use music tastes or career aspirations to learn more about a person?  I use books.  When I visit your house, I will snoop around your bookshelf.  It’s my equivalent of rummaging through your medicine cabinet. 

And if you have Shakespeare on your shelf I will judge you as a pretentious little bugger.  (Fact – I have at one point had Shakespeare on my shelf.  And I don’t think it fooled anyone into thinking that I actually read it).

Anyhow – I tend to venture towards the books that are a little more out-there.  That doesn’t mean I don’t read the Oprah books or the New York Times bestsellers.  But I also like to mix in a little non-fiction about weird topics too.  For instance, the last book I read was about the mole people who lived under the New York City subway tunnels.  Pretty rad, actually.  Check out Mary Roach’s Stiff, too, if you want a humorous look into what happens to our bodies after we donate them to science.  Sounds creepy, but just trust me on this one.

I am an absolute sucker for Tom Robbins.  He’s brilliant and clever.  If you haven’t read Jitterbug Perfume, it’s a must.  It’s not an easy read – his metaphors and use of wording have you pausing often to really wrap your brain around his message – but it’s a worthy read.

My favorite book of all time is The Lord of the Rings.  Tolkien’s writing isn’t anything to gush over, but you will be captivated by the story he unfolds for the reader.

Also on my list of favorites?  The Other Boleyn Girl (*love*), Baby Driver (written by Jack Kerouac’s daughter), and Desert Solitaire (I took a course called “Nature Writing” in college and fell in love with Edward Abbey).

Books that could double as door stops for me?  The Historian.  Save yourself people.  Run screaming in the opposite direction.  800 pages of my life ruined, waiting for a small hint, a wee baby inkling of plot.  Nope.  Nothing.

Wicked.  Just wicked awful.  (Durrr…bad joke).

The Lovely Bones.  I just don’t get the hype.  I really don’t.

Ok, my rant about books is over.  Any good suggestions for me?  And warn me before you come over next so I can put out my poetry books**  and big volume of Shakespeare.  I have an image to uphold here.

*Whitney Houston says “Crack is whack, yo!” and I completely agree.  So stay off drugs, kids.

**Who am I kidding?  These books have no creases in the spines.

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