All the books are moving

I've been told that several rows of my books will be moving upstairs quite soon to prepare room for kids toys. I'm not entirely thrilled about this changing of the guard. I was just reflecting on the fact that I've read about many authors giving away their books late in life because they realize they don't need them anymore. Guess what? I'm dying with my books and when lil s walks them down to the flea market and dumps them off in hefty garbage bags I'll be too far away to give a damn.

In the meantime I don't see why we have to convert our living room from an intellectual haven into a warren for grubby toys. I mean, kids toys are nasty. Why? Because little kids are probably the dirtiest thing in the world, and they are constantly handling their toys. I don't see why we couldn't just teach lil s to enjoy pulling a copy of Moby Dick off the shelf and reading a few passages to herself. I'm certain that she'd enjoy learning about nineteenth century whaling. What child wouldn't?

This is probably just the first in a number of battles that I'll be losing in a never ending attempt to retain some of my grip on sanity. I imagine that my musical selections of late, including Jay Sean will soon devolve into Raffi blaring in the car while my ears bleed. Thankfully it will probably take the family a little while to build up enough force to get me to stop watching sports though I'm sure I'll eventually be DVRing every Michigan game while cheering for lil S at some crappy soccer game. Sigh. I like books.

The next thing you know S will be proposing that we take the book shelf out altogether and just replace it with a doll house or a baby Einstein's jungle learning center kit or some sh-- like that. Anyhow, the whole point of this blog post is that I will not go quietly into the night. In fact, next May I plan to embark on a reading of The Pale King with lil s every night before bed. I'll omit that one story about the toddler getting burned but other than that she better be prepared to get literaturified. I think that's a good thing.

Preach it Robert Musil:

"For a long time now a hint of aversion had lain on everything he did and experienced, a shadow of impotence and loneliness, an all-encompassing distaste for which he could not find the complementary inclination. He felt at times as though he had been born with a talent for which there was at present no objective."