Sometimes, always hesitantly and with appropriate embarrassment, I am a person who reads “readers.” Right now, I am reading The Edward Said Reader, not because Edward Said’s eloquent and impassioned arguments don’t warrant my extended attention and I only want the highlights in a “best of the Beatles” kind of way, but because I am a busy young woman and sometimes I need an in. I read three books at a time, an old habit dating back to my freshman year of high school. Usually, you can count on me to carry at least two of these three books at all times. As I type this, I realize that this week I am reading four at once (not recommended): Edward Said, Noam Chomsky’s Profit Over People, All the Devils Are Here, and The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (it seems ominous to relate)—a truly lighthearted assortment. Usually, I off-set two heavy-hearted books with one sillier one. Last week, the mix included Chris Hedges’ Death of the Liberal Class, Dani Rodrik’s The Globalization Paradox and Mary Roach’s thoroughly delightful, can't-recommend-it-enough Bonk.
I am itching to read Chris Hedges’ new The World As It Is: Dispatches on the Myth of Human Progress. The waiting list at the library is ten deep. I never used to be a book buyer, but my patience for long waits runs thin. There are too many essential (and immediately essential) reads out there. If I’m convinced that I can’t wait for the substance of a book to hit me, I’ll trek to the Rainbow Bookstore Cooperative and buy it.
Rain threatens tomorrow morning’s farmers market but I’m still looking forward to baking bread, listening to The Civil Wars, running errands on dusty ripped-up Willy Street, and catching up on two weeks of missed Daily Show episodes while I scrub my suddy way through a mountain of dishes. I want a garden of my own, but otherwise I'm content.
What do your weekends look like?
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