Another Article, Another Print Books Are Dead Headline. Part One: The Cynic and The Fox.

 Oh fuck me, here we go again, for the umpteenth time. I am sorry for the opening, but there is just no other way around it. Another article by somebody forcing someone to write something they don’t want to. Quota is quota. Got mouths to feed! What better way to kick start an article than to become an authority and declare something near death. Like vinyl, painting, or trans fat and the people that eat it. However, this article was about print books.

  I am sure we have all seen articles like this. The ones that are waving goodbye to print books while adjusting the e-reader’s settings to look more like paper. In my opinion, Jane Austen is more sepia than umber and Clancy is soul sucking black against pupil nuking white. I am not some hermetical luddite who doesn’t own a few e-books. I have many and I enjoy reading on my tablet. I am just really tired of reading about the impending doom of print books by death dealing epubs. Yes, I know I don’t have to read the articles, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. I thrive on frustration and disappointment. And this isn’t about me, this is about books. Real, honest to google books made of paper.

  “Children’s books on a tablet?” I ask while I wipe down my whiskey soaked bar with what appears to be an old grimey rag. “Well that sounds like fun.” I answer as I ring out my whiskey drenched rag, revealing that it is magical and turns whiskey into sarcasm. Punctuating my sentence. Allowing my bar to be thoroughly soaked once more. Albeit this time in sarcasm.

  I can see how some children’s books could use the tablet and amp up the interactive experience. Going places books couldn’t go before. A few traditional kid’s books on the old tablet couldn’t hurt either I guess. It could be fun and I sincerely mean that, but there is something important we are missing, something vital.

  Don’t you remember being a kid? You had books on your bookshelf, they were big and small. Some fat, some tall. You got a lot from your grandmother and some from the bookstore in the mall. You loved them equally though, one, two, three and all.

  They looked great on your shelf. You would get excited just by looking at them and thinking about all the wonderful worlds and characters they contained. You’d grab a book that was half your size, hugging it in both arms and drag it to your designated adult reader. Drop it on the ground, pitch it up on the couch. They would give in and let you pick one more book from your pile before bed. Remember that paper smell? Remember the feeling of the paper as you would turn the pages? Crackle crackle, oh the sound. Remember drifting off to sleep?


Return of the Topic of Pop-Tarts: Part One

  I had a fellow blogger comment on a previous post about pop-tarts. This blogger said, “One should always eat a Pop-tart cold. They’re just better that way!” A sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with Austin on. I remember as a child having a few pop-tarts in the morning. In hindsight they were  usually the precursor to a terrible day to follow. As a child of pleasantly plump proportions, I really enjoyed eating. I was not a fan of the hot pop-tart mostly because the last thing I would be able taste for the next two days was the boringly sweet bread and a split second of metallic tasting white hot fruit flavored fury.

  The other day my wife mentioned that she always thought of pop-tarts as a snackfood, but they were marketed as breakfast fare. Another sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with. Apparently pop-tarts were invented in a time when kids didn’t have time to eat breakfast and parents didn’t have time to dump some sugar coated flakes and milk in a bowl between swigs of whiskey and puffs of smoke. That has been Kellogg’s marketing plan the entire time, it hasn’t changed in fifty years. Now, that I am a mostly sentient adult, I have cast off Kellogg’s recommendations. I eat pop-tarts at the temperature I want, when I want. I am certain I am not alone on this.

  Come on over here Kellogg’s. Let me dump some knowledge on you. A gesture of my hand conjures a bear rug covered room. Next, to the roaring fire are two squishy broken-in high backed chairs and their matching ottomans. The scent of mahogany has worked its way into everything. I hear your bones crack and creak as you settle in to your chair of choice. When was the last time you sat down? Too much Frosted Flakes will make you pace. No one can keep up with Tony. Now, on with the knowledge!

(To be concluded.)