Book slut

“We prefer books to people, generally—they’re clever, contained, non-messy (the dust is not their fault) and when we take a break from them they do not get dramatic.” — Jessica Zafra

These are just the ones that are in good and semi-good condition; the old and dog-eared ones had been stashed in a large-ass Familia box because one of my bookshelves (I’ve four) got devoured by termites and is now on the brink of collapsing on my mother’s head*. Her suggestion to sell the books or — gasp! — burn them was met with hysterical laughter.

Meanwhile, new additions to my ever expanding backlog:

  • JPod by Douglas Coupland. Hits and misses: I enjoyed Shampoo Planet and Eleonor Rigby, liked  some parts of All Families Are Psychotic, but didn’t know what to think of Girlfriend in a Coma (Booksale, P75);
  • How Black Was Our Sabbath by David Tangye and Graham Wright. It’s about Black Sabbath. ‘Nuff said (National Bookstore, P135);
  • Armadillos and Old Lace by Kinky Friedman. Because you can never go wrong with a guy named Kinky (Booksale, P40);
  • Run Like An Antelope by Sean Gibbon. The author covered Phish’s 1999 summer tour. Sounds like fun, and I’m all for rock ‘n’ roll fun (Shopwise-Antipolo, P99).

Buying more books than I can read. The story of my life, it seems.

* Three of my four bookshelves are at my mother’s house, which is a subdivision away from our place.