One of the more unexpected shifts in media habits during the pandemic, at least for me, has been a new interest in those little bird-box book libraries that inhabit front lawns in the quieter neighborhoods here.
I regularly pass a dozen of them on a circuit of five or six miles around Santa Monica and Brentwood. Always, I stop to see what they’re offering.
Sometimes, bag and sanitizer in hand, I’ll actually swap a book.It’s a fascinating exercise, in that the books—from a crumbling Pocket Book edition of George Plimpton’s Out of My League, printed in 1967, to the hefty contemporary cookbooks at a stand-up shed in Santa Monica Canyon—turn out to be far more intellectually, culturally, and politically diverse than the current run of lawn
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