An E-Reader In My Future?

I am an avid reader. Have been since I was a kid. The day I got my first library card ranks in my Top 20. I finish a book, I'm ready to start another one. Can't stand that interim bookless feeling.

There's something comforting about the feel of a book. Turning the pages. Placing the bookmark to monitor your progress. I can spend hours in a bookstore or library reading dust jacket blurbs, letting the pages fall open to random chapters, scanning the dialogue and analyzing the cover art.

No doubt -- I do indeed love the actual physical object known in the vernacular as a book. Okay, okay, I'm stalling. It's confession time: I am pondering buying an e-reader. There. I said it. I feel like a traitor, a heretic, a turncoat, a cheat, Don't I owe some loyalty to all those bookstores and libraries that have fed my habit all these years? Will I ever be able to look the librarian in the eye again. Will the bookseller somehow know that I'm going electronic? Perhaps I'll start wearing a giant "E" on my shirt to further ostracize myself from the good people who remain true to The Book.

Let me explain before you all pile on with reasons to loathe e-readers. I just finished a 900 page book. That's a few pounds of paper and I got an upper body workout just holding it every night. That's when I started to toy with the e-reader idea. If there are other 3-inch thick tomes in my reading future.....

I doubt that I could do it cold turkey. Cut off books altogether? Too extreme. What's next -- a world without chocolate? Besides it would take some time to wean me off of curling up with a good book. I just don't get the same glow over a plastic gadget made in China.

She Died With Her Pearls On

During the 1980's I lived in Los Angeles and signed on to various freelance advertising and public relations projects, including the annual holiday parade sponsored by one of the Hollywood TV stations.

Big name celebrities -- plus the usual B-listers and wannabes -- waving at the crowds from a shiny T-bird convertible or company sponsored float. It was live TV. Cue the driver. Cue the marching band. No room for mistakes. The sheer excitement trumped any jitters.

Following the parade, we were treated to an after-party with munchies to die for -- plus an open bar. This is where you could rub your exhausted elbows with the likes of Jimmy Stewart and Carol Channing. Easy to become star struck around such glitterati, but I never went gaga or drooled over anyone until.....

There she was -- flashing that warm, motherly smile that so enveloped me as a kid. I couldn't help myself. I walked up to Beaver and Wally's mom and gushed. And ever June Cleaver on and off camera -- she hugged me!

I bring this up because Barbara Billingsley died a few weeks ago -- probably with her pearls on.

Bus Ahoy!

I have been car less since 1996. I sold my last car when I moved abroad and, when I returned, I moved to a city with laudable public transportation. Of course I endlessly complain about the service, fare hikes, surly drivers and fellow passengers who, I am convinced, are put on this earth with the sole purpose of challenging my resolution to be more kind.

So nothing new or interesting to report about the actual riding of the bus. But I did notice something about the waiting for the bus. I tend to stand facing the direction from which the bus is coming and, oddly enough, others at the stop do likewise.

Did you ever see flocks of birds at the beach all facing the same way? Now visualize those birds with MP3 players plugged into their ears toting leather backpacks. Voila! A typical downtown bus stop image. Of course our position has absolutely no bearing on the prompt or delayed arrival of said bus. Only Zeus, God, Buddha or Simon Cowell actually have any control over actual bus schedules.

I like to think that we're scouts on the look-out for the behemoth diesel wagon to take us on our way. Bus ahoy! And everyone hopes to be the first to call it.

Puccini and Peanuts

Opera definitely falls into the category of high brow culture. I've been to seven or eight operas, mostly the Italian ones, with a Wagner thrown in for variety.

My confession? I've fallen asleep in some of the best seats in the house. Rather pricey napping, wouldn't you agree? My opera appreciation campaign was short lived. I finally had to admit that I simply didn't care for it. A smattering of arias is the best I can do. When you surround that with hours of drama, I shut down.

Here in San Francisco the opera company performs in a beautiful venue, but once a year they simulcast a performance at the ballpark. It's free and makes opera available to everyone. This year an estimated 30,000 people showed up.

I hemmed and hawed about going. Should I give it another try? The experience would certainly be different with so many people, outdoors, on a big screen. Plus, it's difficult to doze off in those ballpark seats so no worries there.

Why didn't I go? The concession stands. Somehow listening to the opera -- a high brow experience (see paragraph above) -- while noshing a hot dog and guzzling a Bud -- a delicious but definitely low brow experience -- just didn't gel in my mind.

Imagine Pavarotti performing before a beer burping audience. It makes my world tilt on its cultural axis -- and I don't even like opera.