Books 606-610

Well, look at that.

It's already after 10 pm

and not only have I been catching up on White Collar 

and dealing with some technical difficulties 

with the anthroscope over in the garden.

Oh! And seven of my books for class arrived today.

In other words,

today's post is going to be a little more scattered than usual.

Cause I'm a little distracted.




I find this cover entirely forgettable. 

It's strange how classic cliché images can do that to a person.

Oh! Speaking of clichés and romances,

if you like those, 

you might not want to read Friday's garden post.

I'm writing a cliché-free romance for my sister.

Because she was complaining about the quality of romances

and I need to do more writing exercises.


I don't read romances.

I don't think I know what actually happens in romances.

Besides people doing stuff to each other.

And stuff.

This could be really bad.

From an anthropological perspective,

this next book looks pretty interesting.




From a political correctness perspective,

it looks like a minefield.

And that's why I'm going to skip commenting on it,

because I will only get myself into trouble if I do.


That's okay, though.

We can talk about the power of levitation instead.



According Mr. Winterfeld,

if enough people wear masks that look like briefs

and pretend to pull puppet strings,

you, too, can levitate. 

I highly suggest bringing this trick to your next party.


I should write a young adult book.

Or a series. 

Apparently there's money in it

and you don't really need a story.

I would write an epic tale

about an almost-teenager

(or tweenagers

or whatever they're called)

who gets along perfectly fine with the people in his or her life

and don't have adventures.

It will be called

Middle School: It Was Just Meh.

Follow-up titles will include

High School: Eh, Whatever


College: I Went to Some Classes, Met Some People, and Then I Graduated, Isn't That What You're Supposed to Do?



Okay, I take that bit about the money back.

This book only sold for seventy cents.

I'm sure her parents were proud.


Of course, 

after all of that nonsense rambling about our first four books,

we're left with this:



Just take it in for a minute.




Take in the orange.


And then ponder this question:

what would our Jewish ancestors have to say

about the orange?

I'm pretty sure the torah had a better design artist.