Book 'em

Yesterday's MRI was a breeze. I was in and out in about an hour, with the minimum of fuss and difficulty. The strangest thing about the entire affair was when the Dr left the tourniquet on my arm for about 5 minutes longer than necessary. Apparently he had forgotten that it was on (it was the same color as my t-shirt) and walked out after administering the injection for the contrast/dye. The results will be in by Monday, let's all keep our fingers crossed.

in other news, Stephen and I are in the midst of a small skirmish over my being a slob. When I moved in I brought with me a mini-library of congress. I have more books than Robert Redford has wrinkles and more CDs than Imelda Marcos has shoes. Reading and music are my two biggest passions and unfortunately both take up alot of space when pursued "right". I'm one of those bizarre people who can re-read books after a few years. I have several omnibus editions of series which I find utterly timeless(the Hitch Hikers Guide, Tales of the City) and other books that just get better the more times I read then (Valley of the Dolls, Steve Kluger's Almost Like Being in Love). My collection of gay fiction spans about ten years and includes some of the best and worst of the genre. Being a geek pushing thirty, I've also amassed an incredible number of graphic novels (DC and Marvel have been churning out collections of reprints of the Justice League, the Teen titans and their Crossover storylines ie: Crisis on Infinite Earths, the Dark Phoenix Saga, etc). These books are like old friends that one would call every so often, just to check in. Asking me to part with them is like asking me to cut off a pinkie toe or one of my nipples. Unfortunately, Staten Island townehouses only have a limited amount of storage space, and I'm almost at my limit. Stephen has requested that something be done with all the books that have become thigh-high piles in our loft cum office (overlooking the bedroom). Now, as many of you know: I'm a lazy bastard. This is an irrefutable fact. I would honestly let those books sit in piles till the cows came home. When I wanted one, I'd rifle through the piles and grab one, only to replace it days later after it's been read (actually this is what I've been doing). This is also a fact. Unfortunately, Stephen is well aware of the facts and is requesting that something be done about (what he calls) the "piles of rubble" lying about. During an exchange of e-mails, I made it quite plain that there is no way the books were leaving the house. Granted, the subject of giving away/selling/shit-canning the books was mentioned only as an absolute last resort; I'm a drama queen and entitled to think in terms of the Worst Case Scenario, aren't I?

the search for adequate (and tasteful) shelving has begun...

"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself". ~Harvey Fierstein