When I Love It...I Set It Free

I went to the bookstore tonight. You know, a brick and mortar store in which they sell...Nooks. And board games, greeting cards and calenders. And, way back behind those, some books.

I went to pick up Seanan McGuire's Rosemary and Rue, which I sampled on my kindle after hearing wonderful things about it from many people, most recently the lovely Margo. And, while I was there, I picked up a book I had ordered.

I am now faced with an odd situation. A couple of weeks ago I downloaded Richard Kadrey's Sandman Slim on my kindle. It was free (LEGALLY SO), presumably part of the publisher's marketing of the sequel, Kill the Dead. I really liked the book. Nay, I loved it. I loved it so much I drove to a bookstore to buy it. And, when it wasn't on the shelf, I was so determined to show my appreciation to the author by buying it that I ordered it.

So, now I've got it in my hand, a book that I love, that I recommend to anyone I think might enjoy it, and a few people who might not, but should. And I don't want to read it. I mean, I just finished it and I've got other books stacking up on my nightstand at an industrious rate, including the oddly-sized sequel, plus I own another version.

So, what am I to do?

I think I'll give this copy away in one-a-them new-fangled contest thingamajiggers. I might actually drive back down to the bookstore (not tonight - we have a second glass law in my house), purchase a few other books that have delighted me over the years, and then give them away to blog followers. Probably I'll limit it to U.S. states, territories and possessions because my local post office is staffed by two hard-working ladies and one Gorg. I always end up with the Gorg, and the Gorg doesn't know shit. (No offense, Jim Henson)

So, stay tuned...contest a-coming.

Don't Cry for Me, Mongolian BBQ

Conversation between our fellow diners while we attempt to eat dinner at local Mongolian BBQ restaurant:

Late middle-aged gentleman sits alone at 4-top table, quietly enjoying his Mongolian BBQ.

Enter tall, big-boned woman with ridiculous haircut.

Woman: They don't got nothing fresh up there. It's all dried-out. I told them.

Man: Why don't you try the BBQ. It's good.

Woman: NO! I ain't want that. I want the good stuff. It's dinner time. They need the good stuff out. It's all dried up.

Man: (reasonably) But, it's a Mongolian BBQ. Why do you need the other stuff?

Woman: I want the buffet! (drops head into hands and proceeds to cry)

Man: (reasonably) Why don't you try your soup?

* * *

So, at this point, I've been up to the buffet to get the usual for my son: olives, cucumbers, ranch dressing, more ranch dressing, garlic noodles, rice and teriyaki chicken. Don't judge that diet. He's only 21. Months...not years.

The establishment was a little low on the teriyaki chicken, which I really like, but I don't like any kind of chicken enough to cry over it. Also, they weren't out of food or only serving dried up food.

However, the weeping Gorg got me wondering what kind of food, in a perceived dried-up state, might make me cry. I couldn't come up with anything, but I'm trying. I'd really like to find that food. I'd eat it all the time and, yes, I would cry when I couldn't have it.