30 December 2008
Reseller
I can identify with the writer of this piece ― I love a good book, but it isn't easy to resist a bargain.
I bought a copy of a new book from a reseller via Amazon.com months ago ― a brand new copy (at least, it appeared to be) at a fraction of the cover price, an even better bargain than Amazon's customary discount. I'd often wondered, as both reader and publisher, where do these books come from? Had they been shoplifted? Or stolen as part of a more organized theft from, say, a retailer or distributor? Were they really new? I thought I'd satisfy my curiosity.
The book proved mildly interesting, though disappointing (I devoured it more like a magazine article than a book), and I soon sold it to someone else, via Amazon. (I've forgotten how much it sold for, probably even less than I paid for it.) I've since sold dozens of books ― some had been given to me as gifts, though I already had them, others I just couldn't find much interest in. I don't do it for the money so much as the pleasure and satisfaction I get from knowing that a book will be put to better use than just sitting on my shelf, gathering dust. Now I know where at least some of those books come from.
(I've been thinking of offering this book, which has been sitting next to my bed for the past year, during which time I've hardly scratched the surface — much as I'm interested in the subject matter, the book just hasn't sustained my interest. But Mr. O'Malley has left his teeth marks in the dust jacket and spine, and I wouldn't feel right selling it.)
I suppose it would be easier to make use of my local library, but for some reason, I've never felt the same investment in a book when I simply borrow it. (And knowing my peculiar reading habits, I probably wouldn't make the best library patron.)
I bought a copy of a new book from a reseller via Amazon.com months ago ― a brand new copy (at least, it appeared to be) at a fraction of the cover price, an even better bargain than Amazon's customary discount. I'd often wondered, as both reader and publisher, where do these books come from? Had they been shoplifted? Or stolen as part of a more organized theft from, say, a retailer or distributor? Were they really new? I thought I'd satisfy my curiosity.
The book proved mildly interesting, though disappointing (I devoured it more like a magazine article than a book), and I soon sold it to someone else, via Amazon. (I've forgotten how much it sold for, probably even less than I paid for it.) I've since sold dozens of books ― some had been given to me as gifts, though I already had them, others I just couldn't find much interest in. I don't do it for the money so much as the pleasure and satisfaction I get from knowing that a book will be put to better use than just sitting on my shelf, gathering dust. Now I know where at least some of those books come from.
(I've been thinking of offering this book, which has been sitting next to my bed for the past year, during which time I've hardly scratched the surface — much as I'm interested in the subject matter, the book just hasn't sustained my interest. But Mr. O'Malley has left his teeth marks in the dust jacket and spine, and I wouldn't feel right selling it.)
I suppose it would be easier to make use of my local library, but for some reason, I've never felt the same investment in a book when I simply borrow it. (And knowing my peculiar reading habits, I probably wouldn't make the best library patron.)
28 December 2008
Good Riddance
I like this idea, though more in concept than as a sort of self-promotional tool. (It's been organized by the Times Square Alliance, to promote the traditional New Year's Eve ceremonies in Times Square — as if that event was somehow in need of more promotion, or for that matter, greater attendance.) But I appreciate the desire for catharsis and release, this year perhaps more than ever.
When?
It is Sunday, isn't it? It sort of feels as though it is. Or it should be, at least. But I'm not entirely certain...
Without the beacon of a regular schedule, I occasionally lose my way in the fog of the days.
Without the beacon of a regular schedule, I occasionally lose my way in the fog of the days.
25 December 2008
Merry
It has been a day of building and creating for my son and I — a blur of switches, gears and motors. Such was the theme of so many of his gifts.
I was sure the Lab Coat would be one of those gifts that would quickly be tossed aside, as soon as he realized it wasn't something fun. And it was, of course. But my son was encouraged to put it on just as we started working on a project together, and he wore it with great pride for virtually the entire day. And he looked adorable! (I've promised to make him a laminated ID badge to go with it.)
The Lego Robot we built and hastily programmed before bedtime made several attempts at it's assigned tasks, and promptly drove off the kitchen table. We'll try again tomorrow — this time on the floor.
I was sure the Lab Coat would be one of those gifts that would quickly be tossed aside, as soon as he realized it wasn't something fun. And it was, of course. But my son was encouraged to put it on just as we started working on a project together, and he wore it with great pride for virtually the entire day. And he looked adorable! (I've promised to make him a laminated ID badge to go with it.)
The Lego Robot we built and hastily programmed before bedtime made several attempts at it's assigned tasks, and promptly drove off the kitchen table. We'll try again tomorrow — this time on the floor.
23 December 2008
Little Flower
I meant to mention this months ago, but I didn't want to spoil a pleasant surprise (and then, I promptly forgot all about it) — hand made caramels makes a splendid gift (or a pleasant surprise!) at almost any time of year...
Inbetween
I am, and I will readily admit this, a bit out-of-step with prevailing attitudes toward Christmas. I'm not observant of any religion, so that's out, and I'm uncomfortable with what this holiday seems to have become for many — a brightly-lit bacchanalia of commerce that seems to begin even before the end of Halloween. (I know this might seem ironic to anyone who regularly reads this blog, having virtually watched me spend hundreds of dollars on almost completely inappropriate gifts for my six-year-old — but my common sense sometimes fails where kids are concerned.)
As far as Christmas goes, I feel inbetween, neither here nor there.
So I have come to think of this as a time for reflection. This has been a beautiful, chaotic year; at times good, bad, and indifferent. At the end of this year I am in a mood for both forgiving and forgetting, with hope that the past will be allowed to remain past — and the future will be as exhilarating as ever.
As far as Christmas goes, I feel inbetween, neither here nor there.
So I have come to think of this as a time for reflection. This has been a beautiful, chaotic year; at times good, bad, and indifferent. At the end of this year I am in a mood for both forgiving and forgetting, with hope that the past will be allowed to remain past — and the future will be as exhilarating as ever.