God Bless You Mr Rosewater

The other day I found a slip of paper crammed into an old paperback and on it was a reading list from over a decade ago. Besides being impressed by how many books I had read over the summer of 1997, it struck me that such an artifact served a purpose. It was fun to revisit what might have passed as a legitimate pursuit of serious reading. Whether or not I am still capable of such seriousness is up for debate.
In the spirit of that wayward scrap of personal history, I thought why not start up a fresh list and once again track my reading. After all, I'm still an avid bibliophile, though perhaps not with the same fervor as former days. Who knows: in the wake of a breakup and working on an odd schedule for the holiday season, I may be planting my nose in more books than ever before.
A lot of my friends were rabid for Vonnegut when I was in college; he seems to have that particular sardonic voice that suits life in the early twenties. I'll never know if it suited mine, however, having come to him very late. Maybe this will serve as some kind of "second spring" and rejuvenate halcyon dreams as once were so rampant in my head.