I finally finished In Joy Still Felt this evening, after nearly 2 weeks of reading it. As always, it was a great book, one of my favorites, as are all of Isaac Asimov’s autobiography volumes, and once again I was sad to have it finished.
The next two books I’m sneaking in because I simply couldn’t resist them: they are also autobiographies, this time by George Burns. My Grandpa used to have some Burns books on his shelf and every now and then I’d skim them and find them very funny. So when I was in L.A. last week, visting the Iliad Bookshop, I picked up, in paperback, Living It Up and The Third Time Around. They’ve been burning a hole in my backpack ever since I picked them up, and I’m getting started on the former just as soon as I finish this blog entry.
In other news, I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend lately that I have not yet had the courage to mention in these pages: I think my hairline might be started to recede. At least, that’s how it seems to me. It seems that my hairline is arcing in two places, like two widows peaks, leaving a tuft of hair more pronounced in the center. This could be my imagination. It could be the last haircut that I got. But in any event, I notice it ever time I look in the mirror now and have grown uncharacteristically self-conscious about it. It suppose, however, that something like that is inevitable.