by Stacey Longo
I love to read. I don’t think there’s anyone who has ever met me that isn’t aware of this. If I had a choice between bathing in chocolate, getting a hot stone massage from Vin Diesel and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, or reading a really good book, I’d pick the massage with Vin and Rock, but it would be a really difficult decision. Maybe. How did I get off topic here?
As an avid reader, I have been quite vocal about my love for the book itself. I love the feel of a book in my hands, the smell of a new book or an old musty classic, and the ability to take a book anywhere with me. I have the Kindle app on my iPad, but I never use it. I blame this on the irresistible temptation that my ‘Plants vs. Zombies’ app dangles in front of me on the iPad, plus my unwillingness to take a $500 tablet to the beach or the bathroom.
My only teeny, tiny problem with books is that our house is rapidly running out of room to store them all. If I really like a book, I own a copy, and if I love it in an “if you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?” kind of way that makes you answer “okay,” like how I feel about Cider House Rules by John Irving, I buy it in hardcover. We have bookcases lining the walls of our office, and books in between the cases; towers of books precariously balanced in the spare room; novels crammed on the shelves and in the drawers of the hutch in our dining room. I can’t help it. It’s impossible for me to leave a library book sale without giving myself a hernia from my purchases.
While gushing about the joy that is reading with some co-workers this week, one of them (who shall, from this point forward, be known as my BFFandever Damian,) offered me his extra Kindle. Could I really go against everything I’ve ever ranted about, the changing publishing industry and the dying breed known as the book store…all of which I blamed on the Kindle? You bet I could. I accepted Damian’s offer before he even finished his sentence, because at my very core, I am a sell-out.
To say I love my Kindle is an understatement. I downloaded a ton of books for free and some for a couple of bucks each, and I haven’t let it out of my hands since. (Jason knows there’s a Kindle in the house, but I haven’t even let him breathe on it yet.) I take it everywhere I go, and use it when I’m brushing my teeth, cooking dinner, or even painting my toenails. The red polish and my lack of attention made my toes look like an autopsy, but I didn’t care, because my Kindle was there with me. Now I know what’s been missing all of my life—more books, without the storage problem. I don’t bother conversing with people anymore, because I don’t have to. My nose is buried in my Kindle. In fact, I’d love to tell you more about it, but writing this blog has already taken up too much precious reading time.
The only place the Kindle can’t go with me is the shower. But really, how important is good hygiene, anyway?This entry originally appeared on Stacey Longo’s blog. Click on here to read other entries by the Co-chair of the NEHW.