Foucault on a Park Bench.

So after much running around and many late nights editing away, I found myself with some free time this afternoon. Since this is my last week in new york for who knows how long, I took the opportunity to do one of my favorite new york things-- sitting in the park under a shady tree with a good book and a large iced coffee. What could be better?

So this guy walks by, and of course I wind up petting his dog because I seem to have no boundaries where pets and small children are concerned. I have the exceedingly bad habit of more or less ignoring the actual owners of said pets, however this guy took the opportunity to start a conversation. Which went something like this:

Guy: Foucault on a park bench, huh?

Me: *shrug* awkward pause. yeah.

It didn't occur to me until later why I found his comment so weird. To me, books are about life, and even the most abstract of philosophical concepts can help to bring out the vibrant essence of the moment. Or really, what would be the point? Parks are a place of beauty and of community. Quiet enough to read, but still not cut off from the movements of daily life. Could there be a better place to read?

But of course, I finally understood, not everybody feels this way. For some people, books are assignments. I guess. Or at least something one has to walk away from life to appriciate. This is probably obvious, but I'd really never thought about it before.

But really, if books don't make your life more interesting then why read them?

sometimes, people just confuse me.