(no subject)

The commedia workshop yesterday went well. More time would have been nice, as always.
I probably shouldn't have gone to dinner, though - as a party of 22, we weren't seated until 8 PM. I had to bolt my food when it arrived, throw money on the table, and dash off to make the drive home before I crashed, figuratively or literally. Two late nights in a row mean that I'm dragging today.

Being slightly stiff from all the commedia poses doesn't help, either.

Comfort books

I've been re-reading Lloyd Alexander's Prydain books. Each one only takes me 30-45 minutes; partly because they're short, partly because I've read these so many times that I can remember how some of the text is formatted on the page.

(Yes, I am a geek.)
(Line from dinner last night: "I'm a bread geek! I bite the ends off fresh loaves!")

When I was a bibliophiliac youngster, the local library gave me a set of Alexander's five books. They'd been given a batch without covers, and of course, they couldn't keep them. But they couldn't mentally justify throwing them away, so they found someone to appreciate them.

I read and re-read them until the pages fell out. Eventually, I bought a brand new set. I don't need to re-read these books - they are something that I can breeze through without thinking too much. It's like snuggling up to your ratty childhood stuffed animal.

Other comfort books are Heinlein's Starship Troopers (it was the book that started me on SF), and more lately, Bujold's Memory.

Does anyone else do this sort of thing? If so, what?

My faith in humanity is somewhat restored

Kenny Rogers was booed. Repeatedly.