A brain full of wicked-cool stuff

Last week I finished this month’s Book Club assignment. Which sucked. Really sucked. It sucked in a way that made me want to go back to reading Chick Lit and Twilight exclusively. For one thing, I didn’t like the main character (who managed to show up only every other chapter—I’m not sure if that helped or hurt), I didn’t like the story, I didn’t care for the way the story was told, and basically, I didn’t care about anything or anyone. The only reason I bothered to finish is because I hadn’t made it to the end of a book in nearly a month, because of the NBA playoffs and trying to get my own novel all nice and polished for “Bridget.”
I read quite a bit. A few books a month, usually two or three going at the same time. A bit of fiction, but mostly serious, heavy non-fiction historical biographies. Ha-ha. Yeah, right. I’m strickly a novels girl.
Anyway…I finished the sucky book.
And in the end, my main question was answered: What is a Sarajevo Haggadah? Turns out it’s some way-ancient Jewish pray book. Not to sound too disrespectful and unfeeling, but who bloody cares?
Which made me wonder…
How much useless pseudo information have I gained from books?
Lately I’ve learned about…
Chinese foot binding


How to make a sociopathic murderer by age 14

How to live on an English canal barge (and many other canal barge lock things, home repair, more houseboats, gardening and a rescued greyhound named Caroline)

Ok. It’s settle then. I heart books. No matter what.

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