While laughing this morning over Stephen Hunter's Washington Post account of his Amazon addiction I remembered that when I went in search recently of reprints of Eva Ibbotson's older novels (the adult ones that are for rainy days when you've got a bit of time and chocolate and everyone else in the house is reading, too) I found them at Amazon and ordered them instead of waiting until I could find them at one of the world's best independent bookstores. Sometimes you just need to indulge.
So then later this afternoon I found a new blog: Smart Bitches who love trashy books (And I do. But Pahmuk and Saramago are on my nightstand, too, ok?), and ended up spending some of the time I could have spent trying to explain the art of book selection to curmudgeons in just reading someone else's blog.
It was most entertaining.