And then there were two.
Meetings that is.
With Amber. What else would I
mean?
So this second meeting started much smoother than the
first. As in, I did not spend thirty
minutes wandering around pointlessly. We
sat in the same spot, in the little ring of chairs at the bottom of the stairs
in the BLUU and discussed many things of multiple levels of deepness and not to
mention of some depth also (please note the way in which I invoke the same
words in differing manners in order to lengthen sentences that would otherwise
be short and to the point—something I am making special note of so that it is
not attributed to mere laziness, seeing as how I have elevated this practice to
an art of sophistication that has never before been reached).
Things like school.
And tests. And vacation. The many varieties of depth contained within
these topics fascinate the scholar, and bore the writer. Guess which one I am? That’s right.
Not the scholar. Thus I searched
for a topic that would prove to be more interesting. This took the next twenty minutes or so, in
which time I did not find that topic.
Conversation was slow, jerky (not the beefy good kind), and full of
awkward pauses.
It was at this point that my conversational partner,
Amber, the person with whom I was engaging in the act of exchanging verbal communication,
mentioned books. Or rather, the fact
that part of one of her classes involved reading a book in English. She had recently finished a work known as Animal Farm, by that one author guy who
wrote that other book 1984. In fact, I’m pretty sure she had read 1984 also. She was not a big fan of either books, upon
which I agreed with her sound judgment.
Much too depressing, those were.
It was at this point, which is completely different
from the aforementioned point, that she inquired as to which book I might
recommend for her to read next. Being the
avid reader that I am, and obviously must be considering my chosen field of
education and enlightenment, I had a bevy of choices to, well, choose from. The question now was which one, which one? Oops, better hurry, I’m expecting company.
We interrupt your previously scheduled broadcast to
bring you this breaking news. AKA, my
apologies. I will restrain my impulse to
insert random quotations into the middle of nonrelated discourses. We will now return you to your previously
scheduled program.
The Book:
Watership Down. The Author:
Richard Adams. The premise: Bunny
rabbits in search of a new home.
Yes, I am being dead serious. And any of you who have read the
aforementioned book will know exactly how serious I am. For this is my single favorite book. I use the word “single” with specific purpose
for I have many other favorites, but those are all series of books and I am
unable to single out one book from a series without defeating the purpose of
the series. Let me repeat the word “series”
and series of times more in order to seriously drive the point home. Yes, I do know serious is not the same as
series, but they sound close enough so it works.
All that being said, let’s return to the amazing book
known as Watership Down. My favorite single
book. Except, it does happen to have a
sequel which is most interesting. But
the merit contained in the sequel is derived completely from the first
book. Without the first, the sequel
would be pointless. Come to think of it,
that’s probably the case for pretty much every sequel in existence. So it kind of invalidates the point and purpose
of this entire paragraph. However, I
like this paragraph, so I will keep it for it now holds a special place in my
heart.
Now, the end point of all of this is that I told Amber
that Watership Down is the most amazing book ever and she absolutely must read
it. After having said that I offered her
a copy of the book that I happened to have back at my dorm. Directly following that offer we followed the
yellow brick road (I said I’d stop quotes, not references) all the way to my
room where I snagged the book, handed it to Amber. Then we scheduled our next meet and then bid
each other a fond adieu.
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