Been re-reading Brave New World and To Kill A Mockingbird this week, and I realize that I’m getting far more out of them now than I did when they were shoved at me back in high school. I have to wonder if, in order to really get something worthwhile out of literature (or art in general) one has to actually have lived a bit. Not too many 16 year olds can really claim to have a lot of real life expierence, (I certanly didn’t) though all will claim otherwise, and some few really are exceptions.

None of this, however, is making the idea of diving back into Hemmingway appealing. (Boring old drunk that he was…) And hey - doing this for fun, on my own damm time this go-round, so I can pick and choose what I subject myself to.

Growing up (or at least older) has it’s perks.