…and I’ve got some spare change in my pocket, along with the list of the first 20 Hugo-winning novels, the list of Sci Fi’s 50 Essential Authors, and the recommendation of a 900-page book on general semantics from Jerry Pournelle that is exceedingly unlikely to be found at Half Priced books (a mercy, no doubt), but one never knows, do one?(1) So the book pile grows – I still have a bunch of Flynn, Wright and Wolfe to read that I’ve already scrounged…
In the middle of Ringworld. Still need to finish reading Somewhither; not to mention Phenomenology of Spirit. So far, my project of rereading all the Great Books is going splendidly – I merely need to figure out how to live another 187 years.
Also have reviews/essays to write/finish on Orestes Brownson, Brian Neimier’s Netherreal and about a dozen other things in the drafts folder.
What wonderful things to get to do! Job description for most men for most of history: work with your hands 80+ hours a week in the mud and animal droppings until you die, which typically happens around age 35, if you’re lucky. So, getting old, fat and lazy enough to blow off strictly optional reading and writing assignments? Sounds pretty darn good! Plus, we’re going to the beautiful and holy Ordinary Form Mass in Latin (which is how it’s ordinarily supposed to be done, but never mind) at St. Margaret Mary’s in a couple hours, and we’re having our next-door neighbor, who just turned 87, over for one of my ever-popular fried chicken dinners. Life is good!
Now, if I didn’t need to finish building a shed and repairing furniture for the school, or helping clean out my late sister’s house for sale, or take care of a couple other very unpleasant tasks, life would be beyond good. But it’s still pretty darn good.
- a Fats Waller reference, for those who are not hep cats. And your feet’s too big.