Books. Books? Books!

There are few things more satisfying than a good book. In particular a book you own -- not those cheap sluts from the library. You don't know where those things have been. Although if you want something quick and easy there's damn near one in every town. The point is that I recently bought a couple books, from an independent bookstore.

First off, as you may have discerned from the picture up top, is The Great Shark Hunt by Hunter S. Thompson. This thing is a massive collection of his writings and essays from when he was in his prime. A veritable HST reader. Just great stuff -- take for example "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved" in which he starts by laying a terrible lie on some Texan about the Black Panthers starting a riot, and then he and Steadman devolve into drunken chaos and macings. I am a huge HST nerd, so this thing is like catnip.

The other one, if you care, is The Crying of Lot 49, by Thomas Pynchon. I've long wanted to try out one of this reclusive bastard's books, and this one is only 150 pages long or so, far less daunting than say Gravity's Rainbow. It's hilarious, puns and all. Also it makes me feel smart to understand the symbolism of the main character putting on like 50 articles of clothing for a game of strip "guess how this movie that I was in as a child actor ends." That's a game right?

So remember, reading is fun and educational, as long as it's not Jonathan Ames, who apparently "bangs the ugliest grad students."