The low voter turnout at the polls yesterday was expected; I intended to spend the day reading the second half of Angle of Repose, then starting the new Russo. Instead, since we have four new workers, we all sat around getting to know one another, and no one did much reading.
But I found our reading choices interesting. Three of the four women had brought fiction to read--Stegner, a Nicholas Sparks, the latest Elizabeth Strout. The fourth took notes from Jonathan Kozol's The Shame of the Nation and I did a quick skim through the Escalante chapter in a Utah geology book in preparation for next week's camping trip.
The men all brought nonfiction, but only one actually opened the book he'd brought--and if I actually saw its title, I don't remember it, drat it all. Of the other two, one listened to podcasts and the other flipped through a specialized sports magazine.
Gender stereotypes appear to be alive and well--at least in what we reveal about ourselves in public--in my neck of the woods.
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A bang, not a whimper
Two months into L.'s retirement, and I'm finished with the stockpiling of books. No more book purchases! Or at least, no purcha...
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(See also Musee des Beaux Arts ) As far as mental anguish goes, the old painters were no fools. They understood how the mind, the freakiest ...
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Lou wondered where his information would go when he died. Would filaments of learning plant patterns on earth? Would his brain train the sin...
At least the all brought books...that's a good sign!
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