Intellectual curiosity is an aphrodisiac. I’m no elitist, but I do have high standards for certain things, especially when it comes to having a clue about current events and a passion for reading in general.
You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every book ever published. You are a fountain of endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and never fail to impress at a party.
What people love: You can answer almost any question people ask, and have thus been nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their grammar and insult their paperbacks.
I couldn’t care less what “paperbacks” you read, just as long as you’re reading something! Well, except for Danielle Steele and her ilk. That’s crap! 😉
I simply can’t relate to people that don’t read.
There was a time when I’d read a book a week. All kinds, too, not just fiction. Ironically, the more I got into poetry, the less I read as my attention span got shorter and shorter. For a couple of years, newspapers and magazines were pretty much all I read, and I was lucky to get through 2-3 novels/year. And outside of anthologies, I was never a big fan of poetry books, preferring the live and in-person experience.
Over the past year or so, I’ve been reading a lot more, averaging a book a month – currenly lagging thanks to the impenetrable The Black House which I’m still slogging through – along with a ton of comics, magazines and newspapers. (And blogs!) An hour-long train commute helps, one of the things I cherish about city living. Time spent driving is valuable time lost and I believe our increasingly mobile society is as much to blame for our ills as anything else. Interestingly, books-on-tape do nothing for me, not even for poetry.