a perk to housesitting on a street off of monroe avenue and park avenue is the glut of used book stores, the kind used book store owners, you know--the ones who, when you walk in, frown kind of, like, "another lousy pseudo intellectual, 'i'msocool' faker kid"...and then grin and want to talk once they've watched you browse certain shelves, pluck certain books from them and chuckle before putting them back, and once you've checked out. they give you discounts just because you like to read stuff they appreciate; they want to have discussions. it's fun. not to mention i've been ravenous for something new to read, something really good and changing, you know--kind of like my music fan slump until this little two cd set...yeah.

a prayer for owen meany by john irving (i miss chelsea, walked by her house last week, wondered about her and her happiness)
dead souls by nikolai gogol (because yes, i began reading that borrowed copy and quickly decided i'd like my own sometime)
the winter of our discontent by john steinbeck (how could i have not owned this before? for shame... ;)
the medusa and the snail by lewis thomas
selected poems by leonard cohen (i don't own parasites of heaven...)
burning bright by john steinbeck
the second tree from the corner by eb white
the book of laughter and forgetting by milan kundera (michelle read slowness while i was in memphis; i haven't, yet)
in the skin of a lion by michael ondaatje :)
the tale of genji :D
...and two chandler bits, the art of murder and trouble is my business. hee.