Libraries, Books, and Literary Graffiti

Well, it seems that the school's computer faculty have finally managed
to block off the portal to blogger.com, which saddens me deeply.
However, I'm being the sneaky bugger that I am, know a way around
this, and it is perfectly legit, no hacking required for once :) so, I
post from the row of computers in the library, with my iPod in my
ears, and my Legal book by my side, about to start the noting of the
first chapter in this book that I actually can understand totally, and
while it may be vaguely boring, it makes sense.
Much happiness.

This post, however, other than to celebrate this little victory
against the authorities, is to talk about my library. Strangely
enough, it smells like books. The smell is intoxicating for me – there
is nothing like that smell of old paper. It smells like knowledge.
It's distracting enough to make me want to leave my work and spend
hours in the aisles, looking at all the different books, from the
Guinness World Records volumes, to the books on Shakespeare and Fidel
Castro. There's got to be over half a million dollars worth of
literature in this library, I swear. But either way, it's a good
place, even if the floor space has shrunk to half the original size in
the past year of so (all thanks to the 2 new computer labs).

So yes, just this brief post to outline my supreme appreciation for
books and while they may never be read, they are a portal into
someone's mind, a way of life, an event, the past, the future.
It hurts me personally when a book is plastered with graffiti; I try
not to draw in my textbooks, knowing there are two siblings left who
potentially will use them. Granted, by year 12, they could choose
totally different subjects than I have, but hey, it's still a chance.
Plus, just to tack on here, these textbooks are worth up to $70. The
PE book is $90. It's insane. So I like to keep that which is valuable,
valuable.

It's such a shame to see perfectly good pages ripped, torn, bent and
covered in obscenities from my friends being careless with their
things. People learned early on not to touch my books with their pens,
and now that I have new friends that seem to be less inclined to care
of property, they're getting a firm talking to every time they put
their pen on my page and look at me as if to say 'ooh, look what I'm
about to do'.
Intensely frustrating.