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I just put on a Transiberian Orchestra “radio station” on Pandora. It’s playing on “Mozart”, my old desk-top that’s plugged into the whole-house audio so that wherever I am in my fortress of solitude on this 5th day of November, I hear it. Sue’s at breakfast with a friend, and so I have some few remaining minutes before it starts, and continues, for the next two months, which is fine because as it turns out, I like Christmas.

I spent these leisurely minutes watching Cavuto on Fox while simultaneously reading a hardcover book with a black mark on the top and bottom edges, relative to the spine, which means that it was a bargain book picked from the pile at B&N for some reason at the time that I can’t now remember. It must be because of the author, Paulo Coelho, whose book, The Alchemist, I didn’t buy because, although I did like the first ten pages, wasn’t on the bargain stack, and I couldn’t find two other books from the stack it actually was on that I wanted to read. Besides, I have at least a shelf of books that I haven’t read, purchased cheaply for similar forgotten reasons with the intent to get to at some future date.

Well, today, The Winner Stands Alone, was the winner, and I am irrevocably along the way. Physics for Future Presidents and The City of God remain the losers for the time being while my shelf of future promise is lessened by one. The truth is, I’d not the energy for either of the latter, with Christmas about to start and all, and my just finished read, a kindle recommendation I scored from Instapundit, which was the actually not the recommendation, but rather, the prequel to the recommendation which I’ve since forgotten, but not sure I’ll pull the trigger on yet because one of the protagonists of the prequel was/were a pack of alien dogs that shared a soul and could live for hundreds of years because when one of the pack died, it was replaced by a child of the others until, eventually, the pack became so inbred that it was forced to accept outside blood, which by default meant losing the original soul. Hmmm…

Too much time spent on this already, back to Paul Coelho before Christmas will start, officially, as soon as I hear the garage door opening.