Bookish

In a recent conversation with my roommates, Deva asked, "If you were a superhero, who would you be, and what would your superpower be?" (Yes, we have conversations like this all the time, though it's usually Ryan who asks this sort of question.) My answer? "I think I'd have to be The Bookworm." A superpower was more difficult, but we settled on knowledge, or the ability to find out anything.

So yeah, our apartment is starting to look even more bookish than ever. As if my and Deva's shelves full of books (mine neatly ordered, though rather over-full, and Deva's haphazard and sometimes spilling over at the edges) didn't make it obvious enough that Book People live here, there are now -- crowding the computers and printers and scanners out of their dominance of one third of the living room -- an assortment of book-making apparatus. The first was an unassuming marble cutting board for paring leather on, that simply looked like it got lost en route to the kitchen. Then came the sewing frame and finishing press I ordered from England. Neither is very large on its own, but together they take up a fair bit of room, and I haven't actually decided where they'll live permanently yet. Then this morning the parcel guy brough a big box containing a small wooden press (a standing press or nipping press, perhaps; it's a sort of generic "book press" according to the tag on it). And sometime later this week I'll be adding a small-but-heavy metal press, of the same ilk as the wooden one, but more heavy-duty. My book arts teacher has one a previous student wants to sell for a very reasonable price. There may be a smallish board cutter, too. Now I just need to find a parlour-size letterpress and I'll be set. For now.