Poem: The Bars Closed / So Are We

Most mornings, I rouse myself—

today, the clock glares at 4:22,

propped up in my temple-bed.

Mornings always feel so hard,

but I’m determined—

I fish for clothes in the hamper

and push myself out into bleak, wet Queens.

You know, after 4 AM is a switch point:

New York City’s bars have closed,

spilling a puddle of people

onto the damp streets—

Megan, all curves on Roosevelt Avenue,

and denizens of the club,

shouting loudly and hugging each other

in their glaring halter tops

and early spring jerseys—

like completing a ritual, inebriated but satisfied,

reluctant to return

to whatever fragile domesticity waits.

I’m with them—

just trying to catch a train.

And in that crowd,

something inside me steadies,

as though I’ve found a handle

on the world for a moment,

glad not to be alone

in my own head.

By the time I meet Joshua at Penn Station,

I’m more myself,

a quiet song building in my mind.

He’s already awake,

his T-shirt too tight but somehow easy on him.

I grin at how polite he is

to the train attendant,

asking where coach class is—

I could have told him,

but I’m busy weaving stories

in my head, barely hearing him say,

“I’m glad you’re with me.”

Unlocking Greek Mythology: Fresh Vocabulary Lessons Your Students Will Love Before Spring Break!

I bet you are ready for Spring Break (or maybe it has already started)—especially if you teach middle and high school. I know I am. Whether you are teaching mythology to middle school students in an ELA class, or you are diving into Homer's epics with high school students—the weeks before spring break are an effective time to do something different with all those myths you are reading. Bernard Evslin, in his fantastic book of Greek myth, has a chapter on vocabulary called "When Myth Becomes Language". I have created a slew of resources to connect the murky, enigmatic myths we read with kids to how these stories are part of our everyday life and language. Check it out, and I guarantee your students will appreciate the fresh look (while helping them build academic vocabulary).

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Bring Greek Mythology into Everyday Life: Engaging Lessons on How Myth Becomes Language!

Are your students fascinated by Greek myths but wondering how these ancient stories relate to their lives today? Inspired by Bernard Evslin's insightful exploration of myth and language, these classroom-ready resources vividly demonstrate how mythology permeates our everyday vocabulary and expressions.

Perfectly suited for middle school ELA classes or high school students diving into Homer’s epics, this collection offers an exciting shift from traditional teaching—especially ideal for the energizing weeks leading up to Spring Break!

Your students will:

✓ Explore engaging vocabulary activities that directly link mythical stories to modern language.

✓ Discover how common words and expressions originated from the rich tapestry of Greek mythology.

✓ Participate in interactive exercises that build essential academic vocabulary skills aligned with Common Core Standards.

✓ Make meaningful connections between ancient texts and contemporary life, deepening their appreciation and understanding of literature.

Students love working with these myth-related vocabulary cards.
Buy them on the Stones of Erasmus TpT store.

Classroom-tested and designed for active engagement, these lessons turn mythology into accessible, intriguing, and highly relevant content your students will love. Boost student enthusiasm and vocabulary retention with this dynamic, practical resource set.

Digital Download: Comprehensive, easy-to-use materials guaranteed to add depth and excitement to your ELA and Humanities curriculum.

Free Mythology Resource

Not sure what to teach next? Here's a freebie to get you started. I compiled some of my most popular reading cards from units I have assembled for Stones of Erasmus.

Note to My Readers about Paid Content on Stones of Erasmus

This blog post advertises digital content I make and sell as part of my side hustle on TpT—just like my lovely blog, it is also called Stones of Erasmus! Thanks for supporting me on this humanities-inspired journey.

Let us know what you think by dropping a line support@stonesoferasmus.com. Also, if you like my stuff, write a review. TPT is pretty amazing and they will give you TPT credits for writing a review. And it helps buyers know what they are getting before they click purchase.

Flash Fiction: Hashtag Smart (A Story Out of School)

I wrote a flash fiction piece—called 'Hashtag smart'—about a teacher, Mr. Stanley, in an 11th grade English class overrun every morning by a group of 10th grade boys. Discover quirky student banter, T.S. Eliot echoes, and a nostalgic, witty classroom vibe.

Mr. Stanley and His Second Period English Language Arts Class

Hashtag Smart

Tuesday morning, 8:56 AM. My second-period English Language Arts class. My class is 11th graders—some already seated, a copy of T.S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi” scattered neatly on every particleboard desk. Adolescents shuffle in, earbuds firmly planted, eyes downcast, looking like they just tumbled in from sleep. It’s an unusually tepid March day, and the AC in my room is blasting like it’s the middle of July. Why? My classroom still has these ancient 1950s grill heaters that think it’s their job to keep us all toasty—even in March.

“It’s a sauna in here,” I say out loud, but to no one in particular. Allan, a mobile gamer aficionado, who’s always a beat behind—like he’s buffering—enters the room. 

“Hi, Allan,” I offer.

He responds, “Huh?”

“Hi,” I say. I wait a beat. And then—“Oh, hey, Mr. Stanley.” Robbie, the athlete, is already dribbling an imaginary basketball. A mess of them. But these boys are not in my class. “Feral golden retrievers,” I dub them—left teacherless for a few minutes because their real teacher is perennially late, trekking from her homeroom on the top floor. So, these 10th-grade boys have taken to nesting in my room until she arrives. It’s become a bit of a ritual, and who am I to ruin their squatter status?

 

There are ditches I no longer die in.

Enrique, stabbing Quentin with the blunt end of a ball-point pen, tells me, “Mr. Stanley, did you know the teacher who’s going to replace you did like a lesson in Ms. Patil’s class yesterday?” I was quitting after teaching in the same school for sixteen years. I had broken the news to the kids just a few days prior. But it still felt raw. Premature. But I offered demurely, “Oh, really? How’d it go?” Enrique grins, “He kept saying ‘hashtag smart’ every time someone answered a question.” Marsha, one of my quirkier students, and actually on my second-period roster, chimes in, “Hashtag smart? That’s so stupid.” 

I secretly relished her response. A kind of commiseration. 

A tinny voice from the hallway—“Don’t be tardy, y’all,” and the stragglers, reluctant, evacuate.

Flash forward. June.

I’m packing up books, and those loitering-sophomore boys from second period show up in my room. They’d just finished their finals, and here they were as if it were two minutes before second period. We chat about summer plans—Anton’s off to summer camp, Robbie might visit family in Belize, and Yuvraj, the one I call “The Prince,” is still insisting he’s a better writer than I am.

Then silence. I take the initiative. And walk towards the door. And like a dismissal, the boys depart. And I stood there in my vacant room. But one of the boys—Yuvraj, the Prince, pokes his head back in—“Hey, Mr. Stanley. Hashtag smart!” And before I can rejoinder—he’s gone. I cross my arms across my chest. A wan smile settles there. And, as T.S. Eliot might say, it was satisfactory.

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My Journey of Personal Growth: A Forty-something’s Self-Reflection

As a kid, I dreamed of becoming an adult. Join me on a reflective journey of personal transformation—through youth, monastic life, teaching, and the Nietzschean notion of amor fati—as I navigate the complexities of turning forty with hope, introspection, and an unyielding embrace of life’s uncertainties.

Me in a family Christmas photo—I'm like nine or ten (circa 1989)

As a kid, I dreamed of becoming an adult. From my early adolescence to the present, my life has been marked by transformative periods of personal growth and self-discovery. I see these phases as chapters, each contributing to my evolving identity as an individual and as an educator.

Me in the Late Nineties Entering Ms. Decker's Freshman Biology Class
Image Credit: Mandeville High School Yearbook

Youthful Exploration (Ages 12 to 18)

Between the ages of 12 and 18, I was in a stage of youthful exploration, where my interests spanned from joining the book club and library club to participating in theater. I started understanding my identity better, acknowledging my sexuality, and embracing my “Louisiana-ness.” This was also a period of profound spiritual exploration as I deeply engaged with Catholicism. At the same time, I was fortunate enough to travel and broaden my perspectives, continually feeding my voracious appetite for reading and learning.

The ‘Monastic Period’ (Ages 18 to 28)

The next ten years, from 18 to 28, I describe as my “monastic period.” I embraced a life of simplicity and devotion as a Benedictine in the seminary. Besides living in Europe, I completed my undergraduate and graduate studies during this time. The benefits were many: a carefree existence without the worry of rent or expenses. However, this period also marked a time of suppressed sexuality—an important aspect of my identity.

Shifting Gears: Teaching and Life Changes (Age 28 and Onward)

At 28, I decided to leave the monastic life and ventured into the world of teaching high school. This marked the beginning of another transformative chapter that spanned 14 years. During this time, I earned a second master’s degree, taught in various New York neighborhoods, and I finished an advanced certification to teach adolescent English from Hunter College. It’s a defining moment as I’m equipped with a robust educational background and valuable experience.

Me in my early 30s

Comparing Generations, Embracing the Future

Reflecting on these experiences in my 40s, on the cusp of turning 45 years and one month old (tomorrow), I can’t help but make comparisons to my mother’s life at my age—hers was marked by tumultuous times. Today, Mom sent me a sweet text message (funny how when she was in her 40s, she had a pager):

“I pray you are having a good day. Stay safe!! I’m proud of the hard work you do. Love you!—Mom!”

Mom had it tough—both of her parents had died before she graduated high school. She divorced bitterly from my father after a marriage of twenty years. She had Cancer, then a series of other health setbacks—and then a diseased aorta—but she made it through strong each time. Mom attributes it to her faith. I attribute it to her tenacity and very strong ego (but not egotistical).

As I consider my own future, and think of my own troubles, they pale in comparison. I live a single life; I am a high school English teacher, and I don’t own a house or a car (but I live in New York City, so that’s normal). I still hold onto the belief that I can cultivate a happier existence than the generations before me. I am excited about making decisions that align with my aspirations and moving forward, free from self-imposed limitations.

But it is scary.

Navigating the Complexities of Adulthood

The last 14 years have been a challenging journey—one where I truly learned to navigate the complexities of adulthood. I went from hoping and dreaming for financial independence to living in different cities, with a host of different living situations along the way (and did I mention I was once a Benedictine monk?). These experiences have empowered me to set ambitious goals for myself and instilled the confidence that I am the architect of my own destiny.

Nietzsche’s Amor Fati and the “Loneliest Loneliness”

Is it Nietzsche who wrote about amor fati—loving your fate, your destiny, embracing one’s limitations not as weaknesses but rather as signs of fallibility, yet also a freedom from illusion? I am finite. Attempting to contemplate the infinite. Now—of course, those are nice philosophical musings. It is easier to embrace amor fati when all goes well—but what about that “loneliest loneliness” Nietzsche writes about? Even then, my response must be, romantically, “yes!”

Yet I find myself more like an outlier—where the excitement of my days are in the peripheries: the early morning hours when I wake up, the brief encounters with commuters on the Q66 bus, or the after-work hours of talking to a friend, or sipping a Coke Zero while watching the sun set at the World’s Fair Marina in Flushing. The rest of my days—work—seem like ephemera. It is the off-days, the in-between things that really matter. But the log of the everyday gets to me. Isn’t that what modernists call the “rat race,” epitomized in comedy form with Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin, and Jane Fonda in Nine to Five?

Me in my room in New York City in My 40s

On Being “Over the Hill”

No one has pity on you any longer when you’re over the hill—especially if you’re employed, salaried, and confine yourself to the creative profession or some other form of non-manual labor. “Be happy. Suck it up. You could have it worse.”

But I still think—now that I am an adult, I dream of becoming a kid.

Final Thoughts

Turning forty-something—and inching toward 45—feels like standing on a precipice. It’s a moment filled with fear, excitement, and the relentless drive to keep going. Nietzsche’s philosophy of amor fati resonates deeply: Embrace all that life offers, the joys and the hardships alike, while acknowledging our finite nature. Yes, it’s scary. Yes, it’s lonely at times. But this is the space where growth, meaning, and genuine contentment can flourish. And, perhaps, it’s also where the childlike wonder hidden inside us can reemerge, guiding us to rediscover the spark we once knew in youth.

Postscript

Thank you for reading, my dear readers of Stones of Erasmus. May this reflection inspire you to keep dreaming, keep questioning, and keep embracing all that comes along the path of growing older—and, indeed, growing up. If you are a newbie to my blog, drop a follow. If you are someone who has been with me a long time—let me know. If you are a teacher, and want my resources, go to my humanities-based store on TpT.

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The Surprising Roots of “Community” and the Hidden Boundaries We Create

Have you ever wondered why some everyday words seem to carry hidden layers of meaning? By taking a closer look at the etymology of “community,” we discover fascinating tensions between togetherness and exclusion. The prefix co- means “with” or “together,” reflected in words like cooperate and coexist. However, the root muni stems from the Latin concept of walls and military defense—think “munitions” or “municipality.” In other words, while “community” conveys unity, it also implies boundaries that protect insiders and keep outsiders at bay. This duality raises crucial questions about who belongs and who does not, revealing how even the simplest terms can encode profound social and cultural forces.

On "Community"

One thing I’ve learned from examining words closely is how revealing they can be—and how often they point to tension between binary forces we tend to take for granted. Consider “community.” We typically see it as a positive term for belonging, yet when we deconstruct it, we uncover both unity and the idea of separation.

The co- prefix (from Latin) means “together” or “with,” as in cooperate (to work together) or coexist (to exist alongside). Then there’s the muni element. It likely stems from the Latin munire (“to fortify” or “protect”), which in turn relates to moenia (Latin for “defensive walls”). We see this military flavor in words like munitions (armaments or weaponry).

So while “community” conjures an image of people coming together, its deeper linguistic roots hint at building boundaries or fortifications to keep threats out. This creates a subtle tension—every act of inclusion or togetherness can imply an outside that’s excluded. By probing the origins of everyday words like this, we see how language itself encodes a push-and-pull between openness and defense, raising important questions about who belongs and who remains on the outside.

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TV Review: Doctor Who “Joy to the World” 2024 Christmas Special is More about Loneliness than Just your Everyday Time Lord

Greig here, reporting for Stones of Erasmus! I’ve just caught the Doctor Who Christmas special, “Joy to the World,” now streaming on Disney+. Featuring Ncuti Gatwa as the Doctor, and Nicola Couglan as the Doctor's newest companion, Joy—the episode delivers a heartfelt holiday romp that deftly balances time-warp shenanigans, cozy Yuletide feelings, and profound meditations on loneliness. Below is a spoiler-filled review, pieced together from my own viewing and reflections—as well as tidbits you’ll see mirrored in fan discussions online. Let’s hop into the TARDIS and go!

"Ham and cheese toastie and a pumpkin latte?" Yes. Please!
Image Credit: Disney+

Plot Summary: A Time Hotel and a Bomb-Star

Premise. Fresh off the heartbreak of losing Ruby Sunday in last season’s final episode (“Empire of Death”), the Doctor finds himself wandering solo once again. This time, though, his path leads him to a futuristic “Time Hotel,” where it’s Christmas every moment—simultaneously. Patrons pop in and out of doorways leading to any Christmas from any time or place, which makes for a whimsical, if slightly disorienting, holiday getaway.

Loneliness and Joy. The Doctor’s search for a companion is a well-trodden theme—think back to the Ninth Doctor meeting Rose Tyler at the start of the show’s 2005 revival. Eccleston's Doctor was a sad-sack sort of a guy. Or, even Matt Smith's Doctor, before he meets Amelia Pond. In “Joy to the World,” the Doctor’s latest potential friend is Joy, a hotel guest who reveals a painful past: she was unable to see her mother in her final hours during the COVID-19 pandemic. Over the course of the special, Joy becomes entangled in the machinations of the Villengard Corporation, who have concocted a threat so preposterous only Doctor Who could pull it off—a bomb made from an incubating star, hidden inside a dinosaur.

Holiday Hijinks. The central comedic—and cosmic—conceit sees the Doctor sneaking through the Time Hotel’s ever-shifting corridors, inadvertently stumbling onto the Orient Express, engaging in Rube Goldberg–style escapades, and saving the day with a mixture of scientific know-how and plenty of empathy. Ultimately, the star that could have detonated as a cosmic bomb instead hearkens back to the Star of Bethlehem—tying together the show’s Christian allusions with the Doctor’s timeless message of hope.

Themes & Analysis: Solitude, Star of Bethlehem, and Home

Alone at Christmas. Tying in real-world statistics about those who spend Christmas alone, “Joy to the World” shines a light on the Doctor’s enduring isolation. The script cleverly parallels the Doctor’s solitary existence with Joy’s own journey: both are searching for connection, but they shy away from it out of hurt or regret. Watching them bond—when the Doctor reveals he spent a year waiting for a Time Hotel doorway to reopen—grounds this Christmas special in surprisingly raw emotion.

The Doctor on the Psychology of Hotel Rooms: 

I just spent a year in a hotel room that you chose. Do you know what you can tell about a person from the hotel room that they choose?. . . . So you see, a house, that's a . . . that's a disguise. It's a fortress. You can . . . you can hide yourself away with pictures and flowers and tables. But a hotel room? That's you without make-up. It's what you think you need. It's what you are willing to accept. Not a selfie that you posed for, more like catching yourself in the mirror. What's your mirror telling you . . . .?

Finding Home in a Hotel Room. One of the most poignant lines (which I reprinted above for convenience sake) addresses what it means to choose a particular hotel room as “home.” A house can mask who we are, but a hotel room is a quick choice that often reveals our unfiltered wants and emotional states. Joy’s reasons for picking a dull, almost drab room speak volumes about her sorrow—and the Doctor’s year-long stay there symbolizes how stepping into someone else’s space can illuminate both their pain and your own.

A Yuletide Miracle. The biblical references are more than window dressing. The Star of Bethlehem (and Saint Augustine’s idea that it was created as a miraculous sign) resonates with the show’s whimsical claim: perhaps each one of us has the capacity to “shine” like a star, or be guided by someone else’s light. This is typical Doctor Who: whether it’s a tyrannosaur swallowing a star-bomb or a grief-stricken companion longing for closure, the show always circles back to the miracle and fragility of being human.

Final Thoughts: A Whimsical, Welcoming Christmas Tale

While “Joy to the World” crams in a dizzying array of plot threads—part Victorian train chase, part apocalyptic star-bomb standoff—its real triumph is the Doctor’s renewed sense of empathy. Even if the pacing feels rushed at times, the episode’s emotional center holds firm: we see a lonely alien traveler and an ordinary human, both caught in cosmic chaos yet strangely united by the universal longing to not be alone during the holidays.

Where the story truly succeeds is in reminding us that each person’s inner life is worth exploring. Whether it’s a fleeting cameo on a train or a quiet conversation about grief, every encounter has the potential to transform. And what better day than Christmas—when so many people struggle with isolation—to give audiences an allegory about love, hope, and the star shining in each of us?

“Joy to the World” might not be the Doctor Who holiday special you were looking for (fact-checkers note that it’s helmed more by the Disney-peeps, and is not solely BBC property), but in the realm of imaginative Christmas adventures, it’s a cozy gem. And if you’ve found yourself alone this holiday, let the Doctor’s foray into the Time Hotel remind you: you’re okay, and connection is always a possibility—even in the strangest of places or the simplest of gestures.

Stray Observations

• The Doctor speaks in his usual timey-wimey, scientific manner in most episodes (think, "Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow"), and in this episode, "mavity" is back, with the Doctor quipping something about rotational gravity. If you know, you know.
• Steven Moffat wrote "Joy to the World," and it shows—it's a smart move on Russell T. Davies's part. As showrunner, he isn't shy about including past writers while staying true to the show's vision. 
• I loved the nod to last season’s episode “Boom”—with ticking bombs, collateral damage, and the sentient consciousness heroes—Villengard's victims—(RIP Trev, and the Silurian). 
• I appreciated the nuanced portrayal of Anita Benn, the Sandrighman Hotel proprietor, played by Stephanie de Whalley. Her character's understanding of Ncuti Gatwa's Doctor resonates with the queer audience; in a poignant moment, she empathizes with the Doctor, noting that neither of them has a boyfriend. 
• Additionally, the woman the Doctor encounters reading Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express—Sylvia Trench, portrayed by Niamh Marie Smith—was revealed to be writing a letter to her girlfriend. I wished she had more screen time.

Happy holidays, fellow Whovians, and may your own hotel room—literal or metaphorical—feel a little less lonely this season.

—Greig,

Stones of Erasmus

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Book Review: The Gutenberg Elegies by Sven Birkerts

Here lies a book review on the non-fiction tome The Gutenberg Elegies by Sven Birkerts.
     I read the Gutenberg Elegies in 2006 back when books were still being read in print (har har). The statistics were grim for the written word, but new studies indicate that the written word may be back but will reading survive in the long run? The eReader phenomenon had not yet hit critical mass even a few years ago, but we had been facing a problem at the library: students were not coming into the library. But, hits on the library web site had increased. Students had stopped coming to the library and had instead started doing all their research on the internet; they were checking the library's catalog online, using databases online (an awesome tool, by the way).
Fast-Food Restaurant Library
     Students were not using the library to come and stay: we had become more of a fast-food restaurant: come and buy and go. I was working at the time with a colleague, B., and she was telling me how she predicted back in the 90s that book would eventually be replaced by flexible devices that would allow readers to peruse books as if they were "print." I laughed at the time, even though Sony had come out with eBook readers, and so had a few other companies - but these clunkers were expensive and not amenable to a large selection. So, I read Sven Birkert's book, which is a philosophical musing on reading, words, language, and the art of the medium. At the time I was very nostalgic for books - even though books had not yet left the party. I could not imagine a life without physical books: the smell, the binding. the print, the presence of an actual book. But, then, as time went on, and Google announced its Books service, Amazon announced its Kindle, and now Apple, the iPad, I have come to realize that it is not "books" per se that we should be championing but READING. 
     Will I read my child Where the Wild Things Are from an electronic device or from a book? Maybe both? What about WRITING. Or both: reading and writing. It is one thing to elegize on the loss of the book, but as Birkerts points out, it is a sadder thing to lament the loss of reading. Will the fast production of eBooks toss out reading? Probably not. Will blogs eliminate writing? Probably not? I think the divide is not necessarily due to books versus digital media, but rather, a divide between permanence and impermanence. Books represent permanence. Working in a library you come to know this especially when a patron comes in looking for a book he or she once read: they, panic-stricken, come to the circulation desk, "Where is the book I read twenty years ago?! It is not here. I remember it was right there," they say, pointing to a space in the library that is now reserved for computer terminals. Books are supposed to be permanent; they are supposed to be dogeared, yes, but they must persist; Sometimes people are not too happy to discover their book had been relegated to the basement, replaced by a PC - and some people even lament when their favorite book has donned a new cover art. The gods must be crazy. If the book is not to be found, a worker would have to be sent to request for the book at another location, have it sent by courier, and voilá here was the book, albeit a different jacket cover than they had remembered, but so what. Or better yet: let us say the book had been discarded?! If it had been tossed to the Friends of the Library book sale? What then? What if I had said, "Well, you can read the book on our eReader? Or you can print the entire book on a printer? Or, well, we have to inter-library loan that book from Fresno." The patron would have been unhappy. Maybe furious. We want our physical books like we want our web pages: now, and at this very moment. We want permanence but we want our permanent print like want our Safari to load: instantaneously. I am frustrated that people are so nostalgic for the superficial when they should rather be proactive for the right reasons. It is one thing to lament the loss of the physical book, but I find people are not putting their money where their hearts are. Is this an elegy for the book, or is it rather, an elegy for intellectual curiosity? What scares me more is not the loss of the physical book, but something deeper and scarier: the loss of critical thinking. If the book is only meant to be a fetish for nostalgia, then, it defeats the purpose. Books will be around for a while. Sure. As long as reading = pleasure. But, there will also be Kindles, etc., right alongside of them. What I worry about is access to new and interesting stories, information, words, language, pleasure. Will there be egalitarian places where people can read? Not everyone can afford a Kindle (and for that matter, not everyone can afford a book). Will libraries be places with free access to Google Books and usage of eBook readers? Google states once they open their databases of copyright and out of print in-copyright books by subscription, public libraries will be granted a terminal with free access. 
     What if I want to read the Chronicles of Narnia at home but cannot afford the twenty bucks? In America, access to reading is taken for granted. We forget that it is a mark of a democratic society that champions unmediated, free access to knowledge. Will there continue to be places where people can write out their thoughts (like here on Blogger, which infamously deletes blogs for no apparent reason). Will proprietary devices create an elite upper class? I think impermanence is what we are scared of. We are afraid the loss of the book is the loss of civilization as we know it. What scares me more than anything is the middle-class person who says: "I don't have time to read" when there are people who really cannot afford to read. That scares me more than, "I want an iPad." Or, when I give students a list of books to read, and one of them says, "None of these stories interests me." But, then again, what am I hoping for? Have things really changed? Are people reading less in 2010 as they did in 1956? As they did in 1888? Actually, people are reading more, just not in print. But, the strange paradox is the advent of choice: I am sure today there are so many options to choose from when it comes to reading: just look at the number of books published every year; the number of news blogs, websites, etc. But, is every class of society given the opportunity to read? Who are the people reading more? The next thing to gage is writing. Are Americans writing more? Now, it may come back to permanence and impermanence. Is it the loss of something we are afraid of? If it is, what is that something? That's what I want to know. I will not sing an elegy for the book, but I may begin to sing an elegy for thought. If we are reading more, what are we reading, and if we are writing more, what are we writing. 
Start Memorizing a Book Like the Book People in Fahrenheit 451
     Should I do a Fahrenheit 451 and start memorizing my favorite book or should I go out and buy an iPad? Maybe, I should do both. But, what I think should be done is this: people need to ensure that reading is always made available to everyone in society. Budgets for information centers, books in braille, one book one city programs, writing workshops, poetry circles, lending libraries, etc., should not be cut. I lived in a posh city where citizens voted to not approve the library budget? What were they thinking? People said they just buy their books. They don't need a library. As we speed into the information age, we cannot make the mistake of denying reading to the masses just because books are like an iTunes song: 99 cents.

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