I like having books. Like CDs, I just like being able to pick them up, turn the pages [books, not CDs…] and peruse at my leisure. They’re mine. Materialistic and probably kinda snobby, but whatever. Besides, it turns out that you can do more with books than just read them: you can tell other people that you own them.
There are things on the vast interweb that are inherently good, helpful, informative and even entertaining. Then there are things that look pretty and seem like they should somehow improve my life. Yet I can find no real benefit.
Things like this.
Okay, for those of you who didn’t click over, that’s My Library on Google Books. It’s a list of books I’ve compiled from their vast Googley knowledge. They happen to be ones that I have read recently or am currently reading. I have a similar list on facebook, and I’ve never quite figured out the use of that either, other than for helping publishers and advertisers count their beans. I suppose it could include ones I want to read or ones I’ve given as gifts on this list … if I wanted.
I already own the book. I’ve already, or almost already, read it. So why list it? I have a fair number of books, but not so many that I need a list to remind me of what I own. And I have yet to come up with any good reason why anyone else out there would give a rat’s ass what fiction has kept me occupied at lunch over the past year. So I doubt I’ll keep it. Despite only having a few books listed, it’ll be let go with a sigh. It is is a pretty little thing, what with all the book covers and all. Like having books, it appears that I like listing them. But the last thing I need is something else residing in my Google account.
It’s starting to look as cluttered as my bookshelves.