A lot of New Yorkers are too busy to read books. Or maybe you only have time for books that promise a good return on the investment — self improvement manuals, healthy living and how-tos and so forth. Plus the thirty-two thousand six-hundred and seventeen million websites you check every day to stay on top of things at work.
Classic non-fiction — history and essays — might be great for the weekend. But you’ll probably be drunk or unconscious by then.
Novels are a pure indulgence — a Reese’s Peanutbutter Cup in our gluten-free yoga-crazed world.
So here’s the deal: I hate yoga. I read a little bit of everything, and I read pretty much all the time. You can see what I’m working on at the top of the sidebar. Every time I finish something, I’ll tell you what was in it. And I’ll keep it short, because you’re in a hurry.