The summer heat has us moving a bit slower. If we seem to have a vacant look in our eyes, it is likely that we are dreaming of sandy beaches with big umbrellas, drink in one hand a book in the other. There seems to be no shortage of activities in town during the summer. Turkeyrama, Starry Night, IPNC. Party over here, part over there. It is sort of nice.
I have two neat little essays to share with you. The first I read last night in the Book Review section of the New York Times. You can read it here. Gary Shteyngart's funny little love affair with his "iTelephone" and how it relates to actually conversing about books. The other article is from yesterday's Oregonian. Brian Doyle, essayist extraordinaire, has a lovely piece about the joys of reading in bed. Sadly, I am unable to find a link to it online, but go dig up the book section of the Oregonian from the recycling and give it a read. It is worth getting a little ink on the fingers. The timing was perfect. With the slightly cooler morning, I woke up to a snuggly cat (she really only likes my husband, not me) and a desire to read in bed a bit. Such a guilty pleasure, reading before the day starts, not at the end!