One Update

Apologies that last week was only a one update week. Unfortunately it looks like this week will be as well. I could give you excuses, but no one wants that. I'm still writing this week, though not necessarily things to post in the blog. Fall has finally arrived, so hopefully that will provide a bit more muse.

Don't worry - this is not the update for this week.

Apologies that last week was only a one update week. Unfortunately it looks like this week will be as well. I could give you excuses, but no one wants that. I'm still writing this week, though not necessarily things to post in the blog. Fall has finally arrived, so hopefully that will provide a bit more muse.

Don't worry - this is not the update for this week.

One Update

R.E.M.ageddon

If asked to name my favorite band, my friends would give you a wide variety of answers. Many would wisely say Pavement or Meat Loaf, while a slightly smaller group would proffer The Police or Cursive. A small group would suggest Elliot Smith, while a few stragglers would suggest more familialy The Smiths. However, the correct response would be R.E.M.

Either the editor or founder (and really, these two could be the same person) of Spin wrote an amazing piece a few years back about the first time he heard R.E.M. Unfortunately, a search of the internet has revealed no evidence of this work. I can tell you though that I first heard them when I was in junior high, 1993, age 12. We had to take a music class, at which my teacher would play songs about which we would note the mood, tempo, and so forth. We turned in our discussions, though he probably rarely if at all read it.

At some point he played an R.E.M. song, possibly Losing My Religion. My mind was blown. I had no idea what I was hearing, but I knew I needed to hear more of it. The rest of the fall I spent a great deal of time telling anyone who would listen to a 12 year old discuss music preaching my love for R.E.M., based on this single hearing and sparse radio play.

Fast forward to Christmas morning. I have no idea what I got, save one tiny package. I picked it up, completely unsure what such a tiny rectangle could be. It's certainly not a sweater, book, or video game. Perhaps a deck of cards? I have plenty of those. Opening said package, I found a cassette and three words that permanently changed the way I view music: "Out of Time."

Oh man, this first song is awesome! Wait, is this guy rapping? Who is this KRS-One guy anyway? Who is this Kate Pierson girl? I'm madly in love with her based solely on her voice*. We'll ignore the fact that she's significantly older than my mom. Every song blows my mind.

Fast forward nearly 15 years. I'm at CD/Game Exchange in Silver Spring, MD, where I'm living at the time. I'm browsing to fill my addiction for buying 90s indie rock albums - Pavement, Neutral Milk Hotel, Cap'n Jazz, Mineral, whatever. Suddenly I'm struck by three familiar letters that I haven't considered in years - R.E.M. I shelled out $5 for Automatic for the People. For the second time in my life, R.E.M. blew my mind.

I still listen to R.E.M. I was actually listening to Out of Time when I drafted this post last night. However, last week something unfortunate and ultimately inevitable happened: R.E.M. announced that they are breaking up. R.E.M. has been a band for 31 years, longer than I have been alive. I've been a fan for well over half my life. It's the end of the band, as we know it and otherwise. I for one feel far less than fine.

*To be completely honest, this is still rather true.

If asked to name my favorite band, my friends would give you a wide variety of answers. Many would wisely say Pavement or Meat Loaf, while a slightly smaller group would proffer The Police or Cursive. A small group would suggest Elliot Smith, while a few stragglers would suggest more familialy The Smiths. However, the correct response would be R.E.M.

Either the editor or founder (and really, these two could be the same person) of Spin wrote an amazing piece a few years back about the first time he heard R.E.M. Unfortunately, a search of the internet has revealed no evidence of this work. I can tell you though that I first heard them when I was in junior high, 1993, age 12. We had to take a music class, at which my teacher would play songs about which we would note the mood, tempo, and so forth. We turned in our discussions, though he probably rarely if at all read it.

At some point he played an R.E.M. song, possibly Losing My Religion. My mind was blown. I had no idea what I was hearing, but I knew I needed to hear more of it. The rest of the fall I spent a great deal of time telling anyone who would listen to a 12 year old discuss music preaching my love for R.E.M., based on this single hearing and sparse radio play.

Fast forward to Christmas morning. I have no idea what I got, save one tiny package. I picked it up, completely unsure what such a tiny rectangle could be. It's certainly not a sweater, book, or video game. Perhaps a deck of cards? I have plenty of those. Opening said package, I found a cassette and three words that permanently changed the way I view music: "Out of Time."

Oh man, this first song is awesome! Wait, is this guy rapping? Who is this KRS-One guy anyway? Who is this Kate Pierson girl? I'm madly in love with her based solely on her voice*. We'll ignore the fact that she's significantly older than my mom. Every song blows my mind.

Fast forward nearly 15 years. I'm at CD/Game Exchange in Silver Spring, MD, where I'm living at the time. I'm browsing to fill my addiction for buying 90s indie rock albums - Pavement, Neutral Milk Hotel, Cap'n Jazz, Mineral, whatever. Suddenly I'm struck by three familiar letters that I haven't considered in years - R.E.M. I shelled out $5 for Automatic for the People. For the second time in my life, R.E.M. blew my mind.

I still listen to R.E.M. I was actually listening to Out of Time when I drafted this post last night. However, last week something unfortunate and ultimately inevitable happened: R.E.M. announced that they are breaking up. R.E.M. has been a band for 31 years, longer than I have been alive. I've been a fan for well over half my life. It's the end of the band, as we know it and otherwise. I for one feel far less than fine.

*To be completely honest, this is still rather true.

R.E.M.ageddon

Why the Looks?

Tie? Check
Polished shoes? Check
Nice watch? Check
Sitting on the street writing? Check

Everyone is giving me strange looks. I love it.

Tie? Check
Polished shoes? Check
Nice watch? Check
Sitting on the street writing? Check

Everyone is giving me strange looks. I love it.

Why the Looks?

Showers? Babies Take Baths!

Yesterday I went to my first baby shower ever. Don't be alarmed - I'm not having children yet. You have more time to prepare. But I have friends who are, and they had a co-ed baby shower. I was very unsure what to expect, but I had a lot of fun.

One interesting thing is that we do not yet know the baby's gender. The parents have chosen not to find out until said baby is born. While I know this used to be commonplace, it seems to be pretty rare these days. If it were me, I wouldn't be able to handle the suspense, buy I'm glad someone is doing it. Babies of unknown gender get green and yellow clothing. I bought them a green shirt that reads, "Diaper Loading. Please Wait."

Since we weren't doing the standard baby colors of blue or pink, why not tie dye? It was my first time ever doing so, but it was a lot of fun. I haven't seen the finished product yet, but I'm excited to see the baby wearing the multicolored spiral tshirt I dyed.

While the tie dying was being set up, some of us threw a frisbee around. I haven't thrown a frisbee in quite some time, whereas one of my friends coaches an intramural ultimate frisbee team at the high school where he teaches. I'm not good at frisbee. We had a two-year-old playing. With his mom's help, he actually threw it a few times, possibly better than some of my throws.

Gift time showed the difference between parents and non-parents. As gifts from parents were opened, they would explain the purpose of items to the parents-to-be. On the other hand, I picked something off the Amazon registry, not sure what it was. It said something about bathing a baby. I figure bathing is pretty important.

Per the father's request, I stopped on my way there to pick up a few cigars. Unfortunately, between the dying (tie, not death) and frisbee and delicious cake, we did not end up smoking said cigars.

It's an interesting and beautiful experience to step back and take in the fact that God is blessing my friends with a baby. A new life is coming into the world, one more little tiny human, into their care. If there be anything in all of humanity worth celebrating, this is it.

Yesterday I went to my first baby shower ever. Don't be alarmed - I'm not having children yet. You have more time to prepare. But I have friends who are, and they had a co-ed baby shower. I was very unsure what to expect, but I had a lot of fun.

One interesting thing is that we do not yet know the baby's gender. The parents have chosen not to find out until said baby is born. While I know this used to be commonplace, it seems to be pretty rare these days. If it were me, I wouldn't be able to handle the suspense, buy I'm glad someone is doing it. Babies of unknown gender get green and yellow clothing. I bought them a green shirt that reads, "Diaper Loading. Please Wait."

Since we weren't doing the standard baby colors of blue or pink, why not tie dye? It was my first time ever doing so, but it was a lot of fun. I haven't seen the finished product yet, but I'm excited to see the baby wearing the multicolored spiral tshirt I dyed.

While the tie dying was being set up, some of us threw a frisbee around. I haven't thrown a frisbee in quite some time, whereas one of my friends coaches an intramural ultimate frisbee team at the high school where he teaches. I'm not good at frisbee. We had a two-year-old playing. With his mom's help, he actually threw it a few times, possibly better than some of my throws.

Gift time showed the difference between parents and non-parents. As gifts from parents were opened, they would explain the purpose of items to the parents-to-be. On the other hand, I picked something off the Amazon registry, not sure what it was. It said something about bathing a baby. I figure bathing is pretty important.

Per the father's request, I stopped on my way there to pick up a few cigars. Unfortunately, between the dying (tie, not death) and frisbee and delicious cake, we did not end up smoking said cigars.

It's an interesting and beautiful experience to step back and take in the fact that God is blessing my friends with a baby. A new life is coming into the world, one more little tiny human, into their care. If there be anything in all of humanity worth celebrating, this is it.

Showers? Babies Take Baths!

"Welcome Aboard," or What's the Mat-ter?

My friend Amiee* works at a hotel about two blocks away from the church that I am a part of. She works Sundays. As such, I sometimes hang out with her after church. This was the case this Sunday. We sat there drinking cucumber water** and laughing, catching up on life and playing mancala. Suddenly we heard a strange sound in the street.

It reminded me of a street sweeper, though it was not moving. I've never seen a street sweeper park and continue sweeping, so this was probably not what it actually was. Eventually Amiee went to check what this strange noise was. I don't know why it sounded this way, because it was a short tour bus. Said tour bus rolled out the red carpet, which in this case was a mat. People boarded the bus, and they pulled out.

Shortly after they pulled out, Amiee went back over to the front desk to answer the phone. Suddenly she started laughing. "They left their mat!" she said.

Down the stairs I go, to street level. Back up the stairs I come, mat in hand. "Welcome Aboard," is emblazoned on the mat. The mat had been abandoned, but now it had a new owner. What will I do with this mat? I don't know. But it's going to be awesome.

I can't put this mat in front of my door for two reasons. Firstly, I already have a door mat. Having a second would require me to figure out what to do with the first. I don't have two doors, so I have no use for a second mat. Secondly, it's gigantic. I would need a double door to use this. I have no use for this mat. I should take a picture with it, then take it back down.

Suddenly I hear the street sweeper again. I hear yelling. "The mat's gone! Does anybody know what happened to my mat? I can't believe they (^&*ing forgot the mat!"

"He's going to get shot if he keeps that up," Amiee says. I grab the mat and run downstairs. "What are you going to tell him? That you wanted it, but he can have it back?"

I get to the bottom and hand him the mat as he is about to leave. "Um, I think you forgot this. We picked it up because we didn't want anyone to steal it. You need to be careful with things in this part of town."

"You're a good person," he says to me. "You're a good person, and you will be repaid for this. Thank you."

I felt so bad. He has no idea how wrong he is. None of us are good, and we are not repaid in some cosmic karmic balance system, thankfully. Further, I wasn't even acting magnanimously toward him, no matter what I told him.

I still have one doormat. I think it says "Wipe Your Paws," or something like that, though I haven't really looked at it in a long time. It's my roommate's. It sits in front of our only door. When you cross our threshold, you are coming in, not aboard, through a single door. And that's the way it should be.

*I wish Amiee had a blog I could link to from here. She has the most amazing stories about her job, and they are nowhere recorded. Blog, Amiee.
**For some reason, the water in the dispenser there has cucumbers in it. I suppose it adds something good for you to the water. It tastes a bit unusual, but I like it. I always feel trendy when I drink it.

My friend Amiee* works at a hotel about two blocks away from the church that I am a part of. She works Sundays. As such, I sometimes hang out with her after church. This was the case this Sunday. We sat there drinking cucumber water** and laughing, catching up on life and playing mancala. Suddenly we heard a strange sound in the street.

It reminded me of a street sweeper, though it was not moving. I've never seen a street sweeper park and continue sweeping, so this was probably not what it actually was. Eventually Amiee went to check what this strange noise was. I don't know why it sounded this way, because it was a short tour bus. Said tour bus rolled out the red carpet, which in this case was a mat. People boarded the bus, and they pulled out.

Shortly after they pulled out, Amiee went back over to the front desk to answer the phone. Suddenly she started laughing. "They left their mat!" she said.

Down the stairs I go, to street level. Back up the stairs I come, mat in hand. "Welcome Aboard," is emblazoned on the mat. The mat had been abandoned, but now it had a new owner. What will I do with this mat? I don't know. But it's going to be awesome.

I can't put this mat in front of my door for two reasons. Firstly, I already have a door mat. Having a second would require me to figure out what to do with the first. I don't have two doors, so I have no use for a second mat. Secondly, it's gigantic. I would need a double door to use this. I have no use for this mat. I should take a picture with it, then take it back down.

Suddenly I hear the street sweeper again. I hear yelling. "The mat's gone! Does anybody know what happened to my mat? I can't believe they (^&*ing forgot the mat!"

"He's going to get shot if he keeps that up," Amiee says. I grab the mat and run downstairs. "What are you going to tell him? That you wanted it, but he can have it back?"

I get to the bottom and hand him the mat as he is about to leave. "Um, I think you forgot this. We picked it up because we didn't want anyone to steal it. You need to be careful with things in this part of town."

"You're a good person," he says to me. "You're a good person, and you will be repaid for this. Thank you."

I felt so bad. He has no idea how wrong he is. None of us are good, and we are not repaid in some cosmic karmic balance system, thankfully. Further, I wasn't even acting magnanimously toward him, no matter what I told him.

I still have one doormat. I think it says "Wipe Your Paws," or something like that, though I haven't really looked at it in a long time. It's my roommate's. It sits in front of our only door. When you cross our threshold, you are coming in, not aboard, through a single door. And that's the way it should be.

*I wish Amiee had a blog I could link to from here. She has the most amazing stories about her job, and they are nowhere recorded. Blog, Amiee.
**For some reason, the water in the dispenser there has cucumbers in it. I suppose it adds something good for you to the water. It tastes a bit unusual, but I like it. I always feel trendy when I drink it.

"Welcome Aboard," or What's the Mat-ter?

9/11, Ten Years in Retrospect

They say you never forget where you were or what you were doing. Seeing as Kennedy was shot years before my parents met, I don't remember that. Strangely, I remember exactly where I was when I heard that the Gulf War had begun. More importantly, I remember where I was on 11 September, 2011.

I was a junior in college, 19 years old. I had a 9:25 class, but I liked to push it, squeezing every moment of sleep out that I could. As such, I was in bed. Suddenly I awoke to someone banging at my door. Jason, my roommate at the time, opened the door to find Mark, another resident of our dorm, distraught.

"A plane just crashed into one of the towers!" he shouted, having himself just awakened to learn of the news.

Jason and I looked at each other, thoroughly confused as to what was going on. What towers, the radio towers on the nearby mountain? How did this happen? Some kind of a guidance system error? An error in the plane itself? Could my now-local Boeing be responsible for what happened while I lived across the country?

Suddenly we heard several people shouting. A second plane. I began to hear talk of terrorism, a concept which previously had little meaning in our country. We'd seen a few car bombs, but otherwise nothing. It was a matter of children's television: COBRA - a ruthless terrorist organization bent on global domination - could only be stopped by G.I. Joe. But this - this was unlike anything I've ever seen before.

As the day unfolded, I learned of two more planes, one in an area of the Pentagon that was fortunately not currently being used, and the other in my home state of Pennsylvania, specifically in Somerset County. No one knew why or how, but we all knew what.

Being at a Christian university at the time made the whole thing that much more interesting. Thousands of people were called together to pray. Instead there seemed to be just a lot of focus on man: discussions (read "arguments") about the judgment of God; whether or not we needed to fear Muslims; whether we should go to war. Spirals of vanity that led us further from the focus on God that brought us all under one roof.

As the day continued, we still didn't get answers. Really, we just got more questions. But there hadn't been any more crashes and planes were grounded until further notice, so we all tried to go about my normal lives.

That night I went to a local show. I don't recall any of the other bands who played, but I know Xavier Slade was there. I do believe it was at Percival's Island. Daniel had booked the show, so he was there, at the time still running Burning Bush singlehandedly. Daniel had woken up and gotten dressed that morning before any of this occurred. He happened to put on his Squad Five-O Bombs over Broadway shirt (see photo below). As soon as I saw it, I got a feeling in my stomach. Suddenly I realized that we were all changed forever on that day. Normal life would never again be normal life.

Ten years ago we all realized that we are not invincible. I didn't know anyone who was directly involved, but many people died or were seriously injured, some of them while trying to help others avoid this fate.

Seven years later we got another reminder of our vulnerability: this time the towers that collapsed were the dual bars showing the housing market and the Dow Jones Industrial Average. It was just another reminder that ultimately our national and political and economic and militaristic savior will all fail. Ultimately, everything but Jesus will, though that's not what I'm talking about right now. All I'm talking about is what happened ten years ago, as I remember it ten years later. Because even today nothing is quite the same, all because of ten men, two planes, and two towers.

They say you never forget where you were or what you were doing. Seeing as Kennedy was shot years before my parents met, I don't remember that. Strangely, I remember exactly where I was when I heard that the Gulf War had begun. More importantly, I remember where I was on 11 September, 2011.

I was a junior in college, 19 years old. I had a 9:25 class, but I liked to push it, squeezing every moment of sleep out that I could. As such, I was in bed. Suddenly I awoke to someone banging at my door. Jason, my roommate at the time, opened the door to find Mark, another resident of our dorm, distraught.

"A plane just crashed into one of the towers!" he shouted, having himself just awakened to learn of the news.

Jason and I looked at each other, thoroughly confused as to what was going on. What towers, the radio towers on the nearby mountain? How did this happen? Some kind of a guidance system error? An error in the plane itself? Could my now-local Boeing be responsible for what happened while I lived across the country?

Suddenly we heard several people shouting. A second plane. I began to hear talk of terrorism, a concept which previously had little meaning in our country. We'd seen a few car bombs, but otherwise nothing. It was a matter of children's television: COBRA - a ruthless terrorist organization bent on global domination - could only be stopped by G.I. Joe. But this - this was unlike anything I've ever seen before.

As the day unfolded, I learned of two more planes, one in an area of the Pentagon that was fortunately not currently being used, and the other in my home state of Pennsylvania, specifically in Somerset County. No one knew why or how, but we all knew what.

Being at a Christian university at the time made the whole thing that much more interesting. Thousands of people were called together to pray. Instead there seemed to be just a lot of focus on man: discussions (read "arguments") about the judgment of God; whether or not we needed to fear Muslims; whether we should go to war. Spirals of vanity that led us further from the focus on God that brought us all under one roof.

As the day continued, we still didn't get answers. Really, we just got more questions. But there hadn't been any more crashes and planes were grounded until further notice, so we all tried to go about my normal lives.

That night I went to a local show. I don't recall any of the other bands who played, but I know Xavier Slade was there. I do believe it was at Percival's Island. Daniel had booked the show, so he was there, at the time still running Burning Bush singlehandedly. Daniel had woken up and gotten dressed that morning before any of this occurred. He happened to put on his Squad Five-O Bombs over Broadway shirt (see photo below). As soon as I saw it, I got a feeling in my stomach. Suddenly I realized that we were all changed forever on that day. Normal life would never again be normal life.

Ten years ago we all realized that we are not invincible. I didn't know anyone who was directly involved, but many people died or were seriously injured, some of them while trying to help others avoid this fate.

Seven years later we got another reminder of our vulnerability: this time the towers that collapsed were the dual bars showing the housing market and the Dow Jones Industrial Average. It was just another reminder that ultimately our national and political and economic and militaristic savior will all fail. Ultimately, everything but Jesus will, though that's not what I'm talking about right now. All I'm talking about is what happened ten years ago, as I remember it ten years later. Because even today nothing is quite the same, all because of ten men, two planes, and two towers.

9/11, Ten Years in Retrospect

Sharing the Secrets

Today, after taking far too long to do so, I finished The Secret Sharer. I want to talk about it, but I don't want to ruin it for anyone (i.e. the person who wins it in the contest).

Speaking of the contest, it's still going on. And I have yet to receive any entries. Quality books. I'm just saying.

Also, per my previous post, I had not read The Secret Sharer before. It did not end as I was thinking it did. I had read about half of it before.

Today, after taking far too long to do so, I finished The Secret Sharer. I want to talk about it, but I don't want to ruin it for anyone (i.e. the person who wins it in the contest).

Speaking of the contest, it's still going on. And I have yet to receive any entries. Quality books. I'm just saying.

Also, per my previous post, I had not read The Secret Sharer before. It did not end as I was thinking it did. I had read about half of it before.

Sharing the Secrets

On Reading Books, 2 of 2, or On Putting My Money Where My Proverbial Mouth Is

In my last post, I told you to read books. I also told you to buy cheap used books.

Labor Day was 2 days ago, which meant some great sales. Half Price Books, for example, offered 20% off everything.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I bought 17 books in 9 days, some of which were not for me. Specifically, 5 of them were not for me. They were for 5 of you.

The contest begins today. It ends at noon Pacific time next Monday, 12 September. Everyone who leaves me a comment will be entered to win 1 of the 5 books. Spam comments do not count. You don't need to tweet it every day to annoy your friends (though you may if you wish) or become a fan on Facebook (again, not going to stop you) or follow the blog (man, I'm full of good ideas today). All you have to do is comment. On my blog (any post), not on a link I've posted anywhere.

The 5 books each cost me less than $5. I bought old beat up copies, even when better copies were available at the same price point. Old used books are awesome. Each of the 5 winners will get to pick, beginning with the first winner, on down through the fifth, which means the fifth will actually only have one choice. Not much of a choice, but you get my point.

The five books:

• Heart of Darkness/The Secret Sharer, by Joseph Conrad
• 1984, by George Orwell
• Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger
• Pudd'nhead Wilson, by Mark Twain
• Breakfast of Champions, by Kurt Vonnegut

I've read all of these*, and I heartily endorse them all. Perhaps later this week I'll post a brief discussion of why I chouse these books. Then again, perhaps not.

If you comment and I don't have a way of getting in touch with you (Twitter, Facebook, phone, face to face, etc), be sure to email me some contact info in case you win.

Comment. Enter. Win.

*In actuallity, I have not yet finished The Secret Sharer. Seeing as it's about 60 pages, I will be well done with it by the end of the giveaway. Further, the more that I read it, the more I think I have read it before. I know I've read at least part of it, but I think I know how it ends.

In my last post, I told you to read books. I also told you to buy cheap used books.

Labor Day was 2 days ago, which meant some great sales. Half Price Books, for example, offered 20% off everything.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I bought 17 books in 9 days, some of which were not for me. Specifically, 5 of them were not for me. They were for 5 of you.

The contest begins today. It ends at noon Pacific time next Monday, 12 September. Everyone who leaves me a comment will be entered to win 1 of the 5 books. Spam comments do not count. You don't need to tweet it every day to annoy your friends (though you may if you wish) or become a fan on Facebook (again, not going to stop you) or follow the blog (man, I'm full of good ideas today). All you have to do is comment. On my blog (any post), not on a link I've posted anywhere.

The 5 books each cost me less than $5. I bought old beat up copies, even when better copies were available at the same price point. Old used books are awesome. Each of the 5 winners will get to pick, beginning with the first winner, on down through the fifth, which means the fifth will actually only have one choice. Not much of a choice, but you get my point.

The five books:

• Heart of Darkness/The Secret Sharer, by Joseph Conrad
• 1984, by George Orwell
• Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger
• Pudd'nhead Wilson, by Mark Twain
• Breakfast of Champions, by Kurt Vonnegut

I've read all of these*, and I heartily endorse them all. Perhaps later this week I'll post a brief discussion of why I chouse these books. Then again, perhaps not.

If you comment and I don't have a way of getting in touch with you (Twitter, Facebook, phone, face to face, etc), be sure to email me some contact info in case you win.

Comment. Enter. Win.

*In actuallity, I have not yet finished The Secret Sharer. Seeing as it's about 60 pages, I will be well done with it by the end of the giveaway. Further, the more that I read it, the more I think I have read it before. I know I've read at least part of it, but I think I know how it ends.

On Reading Books, 2 of 2, or On Putting My Money Where My Proverbial Mouth Is

On Reading Books, 1 of 2

I love books, often to excess. In the past nine days, I've bought seventeen. To be fair, some of these were not for myself, while others were reference. This being said, I don't just love buying books: I also love reading them.
We live in a very interesting time in history to be a reader: we have access to a lot of books for not a lot of money. I can go to Half Price Books and find shelves upon shelves of books for $1 or even $.50. I can go to Amazon and download several classics in Kindle format for free, or I can go to Barnes and Noble where they are often only $5. Even new releases are always on sale if you look hard enough.
Alexander the Great, on the other hand, owned two books. They were invaluable. Instead of keeping them locked up in his palace, he kept them in a gold chest, which was carried everywhere he went by four mounted horses. I'm quite happy books are no longer at this price point.
Furthermore, libraries keep offering more and more options. Many libraries even enable you to borrow books from other libraries. Interlibrary loans open up worlds of new possibilities for the reader.
We say we don't have time to read, but all that reveals is our priorities. I'm not saying reading should be your top priority: it certainly shouldn't. But we have time for what we make time for.
We have plenty of reasons why we don't read, but no excuses. Go read a book.

I love books, often to excess. In the past nine days, I've bought seventeen. To be fair, some of these were not for myself, while others were reference. This being said, I don't just love buying books: I also love reading them.
We live in a very interesting time in history to be a reader: we have access to a lot of books for not a lot of money. I can go to Half Price Books and find shelves upon shelves of books for $1 or even $.50. I can go to Amazon and download several classics in Kindle format for free, or I can go to Barnes and Noble where they are often only $5. Even new releases are always on sale if you look hard enough.
Alexander the Great, on the other hand, owned two books. They were invaluable. Instead of keeping them locked up in his palace, he kept them in a gold chest, which was carried everywhere he went by four mounted horses. I'm quite happy books are no longer at this price point.
Furthermore, libraries keep offering more and more options. Many libraries even enable you to borrow books from other libraries. Interlibrary loans open up worlds of new possibilities for the reader.
We say we don't have time to read, but all that reveals is our priorities. I'm not saying reading should be your top priority: it certainly shouldn't. But we have time for what we make time for.
We have plenty of reasons why we don't read, but no excuses. Go read a book.

On Reading Books, 1 of 2

From the Desk of Bozo T. Clown

I want you to imagine two scenarios with me as we begin today. 

Scenario 1: you eat your coworker's lunch. It was in the refrigerator and clearly marked, but you ate it anyway. The next day your coworker walks from person to person in your workplace, asking each person to refrain from eating other's lunches in the future. Strangely enough, they do so while wearing a clown suit. 

Scenario 2: your son's friend's dad knocks at your front door. He is going around the neighborhood, inviting children to his son's sixth birthday party. Being already in the spirit of the upcoming event, he does so wearing a clown suit. 

Obviously, these two situations are very different. As a matter of fact, the only thing they really have in common is an individual communicating while wearing a clown suit. I now want you to re-imagine both scenarios, except the communication takes place in a written (whether digital or physical) form. And the clown suit? Comic Sans. 

Don't get me wrong: your choice of words is vital. This being said, your choice of font makes a statement about you and your attitude*. Courier, for example, shows you as staunch and professional**, while Comic Sans is light-hearted and does not take the situation too seriously. Ariel, Helvetica, and Times New Roman are great fonts for every day use, while Papyrus is great if you want to let everyone know that you have strikingly bad taste. Whether consciously or subconsciously, our choice of fonts affects our message*;***. 

Looking first at scenario 2, we see what promises to be an awesome sixth birthday party. Everyone is already having fun, and it's only the invitation stage. There is a bounce house and the cake is the best you've ever tasted. The only reason you leave the petting zoo is because the magician is about to begin his performance. Even Big Bird and Cookie Monster**** have replied "Maybe attending" to the Facebook event. 

On the other hand, we have scenario 1. Our coworker is obviously not actually upset. This is more in line with a Monty Python sketch: you eat your coworker's ham sandwich, so she hits you with a ham. Office security shows up. "Office security of the yard?" They drag you both away, thus ending the sketch. While this is perhaps an exaggeration, you see my point. 

Obviously scenario 1 achieved the desired result, while scenario 2 achieved "something completely different." When typing, we need to be ever mindful of these decisions. They affect communication more than we could ever know, sending messages far beyond what we may intend, writing what will be read between the lines. As a matter of fact, there's even an I'm-too-drunk-to-type-correctly font: Wingdings. 

*This same statement goes for your choice of color and the use of capital letters, though that is not the issue at hand. 
**Alternately, Courier could mean that you are a college student struggling to write the last two pages of a twenty page term paper. 
***That's right - footnote reuse. It's called efficiency. 
****I accidentally typed Cookie Mobster. That completely changes the character. 

I want you to imagine two scenarios with me as we begin today. 

Scenario 1: you eat your coworker's lunch. It was in the refrigerator and clearly marked, but you ate it anyway. The next day your coworker walks from person to person in your workplace, asking each person to refrain from eating other's lunches in the future. Strangely enough, they do so while wearing a clown suit. 

Scenario 2: your son's friend's dad knocks at your front door. He is going around the neighborhood, inviting children to his son's sixth birthday party. Being already in the spirit of the upcoming event, he does so wearing a clown suit. 

Obviously, these two situations are very different. As a matter of fact, the only thing they really have in common is an individual communicating while wearing a clown suit. I now want you to re-imagine both scenarios, except the communication takes place in a written (whether digital or physical) form. And the clown suit? Comic Sans. 

Don't get me wrong: your choice of words is vital. This being said, your choice of font makes a statement about you and your attitude*. Courier, for example, shows you as staunch and professional**, while Comic Sans is light-hearted and does not take the situation too seriously. Ariel, Helvetica, and Times New Roman are great fonts for every day use, while Papyrus is great if you want to let everyone know that you have strikingly bad taste. Whether consciously or subconsciously, our choice of fonts affects our message*;***. 

Looking first at scenario 2, we see what promises to be an awesome sixth birthday party. Everyone is already having fun, and it's only the invitation stage. There is a bounce house and the cake is the best you've ever tasted. The only reason you leave the petting zoo is because the magician is about to begin his performance. Even Big Bird and Cookie Monster**** have replied "Maybe attending" to the Facebook event. 

On the other hand, we have scenario 1. Our coworker is obviously not actually upset. This is more in line with a Monty Python sketch: you eat your coworker's ham sandwich, so she hits you with a ham. Office security shows up. "Office security of the yard?" They drag you both away, thus ending the sketch. While this is perhaps an exaggeration, you see my point. 

Obviously scenario 1 achieved the desired result, while scenario 2 achieved "something completely different." When typing, we need to be ever mindful of these decisions. They affect communication more than we could ever know, sending messages far beyond what we may intend, writing what will be read between the lines. As a matter of fact, there's even an I'm-too-drunk-to-type-correctly font: Wingdings. 

*This same statement goes for your choice of color and the use of capital letters, though that is not the issue at hand. 
**Alternately, Courier could mean that you are a college student struggling to write the last two pages of a twenty page term paper. 
***That's right - footnote reuse. It's called efficiency. 
****I accidentally typed Cookie Mobster. That completely changes the character. 

From the Desk of Bozo T. Clown