Well, not
exactly a bash in the classic definition of the term. I got three books this year, but they look
like a trio of real good ones.
The main gift,
from my wife, was G. H. Hardy’s A
Mathematician’s Apology, the classic math tome published by a classic
mathematician, written about 75 years ago.
Don’t know much about it save that it is a must-read for those In The Know,
and that Hardy himself was a (typical?) math weirdo. If “weirdo” is a little harsh, then how about
this: Hardy sounds like, from everything I’ve read about him, to be about a 9
out of 10 on the Sheldon Cooper scale.
That’s the book
I’m going to smuggle in to my sister-in-law’s wedding in three weeks. (Disclaimer: While I can’t can’t can’t can’t
can’t stand weddings – I have a fundamental personality flaw in the inability
to mingle – I wish everyone involved in said weddings all the blessings and
happiness they need and more.) I will
find a quiet, out-of-the way nook, and dissolve myself into Hardy’s hearty
prose.
The book the
little ones gave me is this one:
Think they’re
trying to subtly tell me something? But
I know they have boundless love for me because I’ve told them about Gaffigan, how
me and their mother caught his act a few years back and it was utterly
hilarious, and how I said offhand I’d love to read it as we passed it by as it
sat on a display table at B&N. Read
the first two pages before bed on Wednesday and laughed out loud twice.
The third book
will remain a mystery for now, because it is part of a post I am working on for
the near future …
Good reading!
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