I like a lot of things about my Dad, but I think one of the things I like the most is the way he feels about movies: he’s never met a film he didn’t like. 

I watched a lot of movies growing up with that man, and I watch a lot of movies now. 

Most of the movie’s I’ve watched have been good, some have been alright, and a few have been crimes against humanity.

I recall watching a kung fu movie with him and my sister. As the credits rolled Mia and I looked at eachother in bafflement

- that might’ve been the worst movie ever made - 

and just then, our dad looks up from his classic place laying on the ground and says “That was pretty good!”

I can be similar about books. I’m not quite as unequivocal, but close. I’ve only quit reading a few books, and I’ve looked back not so fondly at a few more. I could count books started but not finished on one hand, books hated on a second.  

There’s a book that stands out. It was a followup to an accidental clone of a good science fiction novel. I wrot ea whole explanation but it was boring, so I deleted it. What’s interesting is what happened to the novel, whatever it was. 

I recall being about 80 pages into the paperback. I was reading in front of my woodstove. It occured to me that I did not like this book, and that I own many books that I could be reading. So I pitched it into the woodstove.

This is all to say that I do not like my bed time book right now, and I should find another without burning it.