on books (and don't worry, the bebe)

Shameful confession #568: I want to be an author, meaning I'd like to make my livelihood from having people buy my books.

And yet-- I do not buy books.

Despite this, I went to the kickass bookstore in O-town today. This is what I do: run my hands over the thick smooth dustjackets of the latests hardbacks, then make my way upstairs, spend a dollar on a cup of coffee, and read the used papers on the balcony overlooking the Square.

I do not buy books because I read about five a week, and I don't like to purchase paperbacks. So I go to the library, and occasionally, if there's something really fine that I just have to own, I take a chunk of my quarterly clothing allowance or some birthday cash and buy it.

I don't buy books because how would I pick just one of the lovelies on the display rack? Books are expensive, the price of a decent dinner out, and so I read them first and purchase selectively.

That being said, I'd like more books. Mainly, first signed editions, because I'm getting kind of snobby in my old age.

The aforementioned book store happens to have such a program, and man alive, I am itching to join it.

Since K.'s planning on getting an Iphone, maybe we can work something out.

Now, in recompense for my rambling, a bebe pic:
A little fuzzy, but the cuteness conveys, eh?

She's been impossibly fun lately. We're doing Pantley's no-cry sleep training routine, so we'll see how that goes.... not bad so far.