I've been told, more than once, that I can be a snob, especially when it comes to books, poetry and wine. I agree that I can be an intellectual snob, though not as extreme as some people I've encountered. I mean, seriously, how snobby can I be when I watch such silly television shows? And I really don't have the money to be as snobby about wines as true wine snobs are. I just don't think good wine is cheap. I used to challenge myself to find a great $15 dollar bottle of wine for parties and dinners. Most of the wine I prefer is around 25 bucks or so for a bottle. I did once buy a $125 bottle of champagne but I was already a bit drunk and very stupid, then. It was excellent champagne and I convinced myself I was buying the experience of sharing such pleasures with my friends. Also, I was trying to seduce impress someone I liked.

I don't know that I'm a book snob. In some ways, I suppose so. The books I enjoy most are ones that tell me something new, or help me to discover something about myself or the world. But I also understand the need for a trashy romance novel or a quick chicklit fix. I like reading about topics I am not familiar with such as flowers, the color mauve, insomnia, furniture. Anything that isn't about my research.

A colleague is having a Christmas party and book exchange in which you anonymously wrap a book that has made an impact on you and that you want to share with other people. I have been struggling with the book(s) I want to take. It's a lot of pressure to choose a text that represents you in some way. While our tastes always classifies us and makes us a readable text, (Bourdieu) because there will be people at the party who do not know me and who I do not know these books, not only the ones that are wrapped but also the ones we want and choose and trade and bargain for, will be incredibly connected to how we're identified.

Right now I'm reading a novella, The Dream Sequence by Kate Hunter, that is incredibly thought-provoking. I'll write more about it later.