Job Update: Mike just completed the short assignment the company wanted Mike to do (financial analysis of some non-profits) and turned it in last night. So pray they'll like it!
Random thought for the day
I spent the weekend in Moab with Mike's family, and we had a conversation in which we bemoaned the fact that no one reads anymore. If you're like me, you didn't actually know this because you're only probably friends with nerds...nerds who read. (Sorry, friends, but you're kind of nerdy.) What can I say, I hang out in literary circles. We all sip yerba mate in smug coffee shops wearing horn-rimmed glasses and talking about Proust. (Not really...I sit alone on my bed writing blogs no one will read.)
But, anyway, I have it on good authority that no one reads anymore. The topic came up because gone are the days that if you want to help someone with parenting you give them a book on parenting. And we all got very sad for the fall of humanity, and all that.
I hate to be a traitor to myself and honest authors everywhere, but is this really all that awful? I happen to think so, being a nerd and an author myself, but it seems like a horribly classist and snooty conclusion, when you consider it. How long have books been around for the mass market? A very short period of time. The rise of the novel was only a few short centuries ago. The ability for the middle and low class to afford a simple book is very new. Parenting books are newer yet, maybe since the 1970s.
So if we are all to become depraved and ignorant with the fall of the book, it means we must always have been depraved and ignorant, for thousands and thousands of years, and the only bright light in humanity was between 1700 and 2000. This seems unlikely.
(I would like to say that the fall of the book will result in the rise of the higher quality book--fewer, better authors--but I doubt this looking at current trends in book publishing, in which non-writers (actresses, politicians, Paris Hiltons, and Fantasia Barrons) are the ones in fact getting books.)
All this to say, how often do we sigh, "Things just aren't how they used to be," while forgetting that things never were really like that to begin with. History is change, and the things we sigh nostalgically for as treasured mainstays of the past were once novel and unsure themselves. The lifestyle of the American housewife, the rise of the modern novel, Kentucky bluegrass, the whistle-stop cafe, though they seem so fundamental, all had beginnings, and sadly, some will have endings.