A month ago, I was watching too many movies, so I decided to read too many books instead: At least one per day.
So short books, then.
So there you go. Normally, I’d be reading sf, sf, sf, sf, literature, sf, sf, sf, sf. But I don’t really have a lot of unread shorter sf (because I tend to read those immediately after I buy them), so this turned out to be more hoity toity than planned.
There were some clunkers, but not a lot. I’m a firm believer in abandoning books the second they start to bore me. There’s an infinite number of books out there, and there’s no point in wasting time on stuff that’s awful. But I only abandoned two books out of all these, and that’s less than normal.
And now I’m never going to read another book in my life! Rawk!
“Og så var vi plutselig midt oppe i en slik intim situasjon som det heter. Det var i grunnen ganske hyggelig. Jeg mener, det er jo et slikt tiltak, men når man først er kommet igang, er det helt all right.”
It’s a very music journalist-ey book, with a dash of Wikipedia-induced Tourettes. “John Cale produced this album by Patti Smith in a studio, where only exactly two weeks short of twenty years before, Miles Davis had once ordered a ham sandwich two blocks away for $1.50, at 3 PM. The world would never be the same.”