10.06 p Here's an excerpt from the Border's newsletter this month, I think it accurately describes my love of books: Not so long ago, people were predicting the decline of the printed book. Riding the wave of digital delirium that accompanied the rise of the Internet, pundits were convinced that downloading would spell the hardcover's downfall, envisioning a world of readers with their faces aglow devouring the latest literary page-scroller. But a funny thing happened on the way to the future: People kept buying books. As clunky and old-fangled as the idea of a hefty tome might be, there's just something about pulling a book off its shelf, cracking it open, and smoothing your hand over that first, supple page. Readers don't just own books; we live with them. We admire the way they look resting on a polished coffee table. We fold them across our chests for a moment's pause after a moving chapter. We take them along for the ride. I enjoy the rough look of a paperback that has survived, say, a camping trip. Its weathered pages and curled corners speak not only to where I've been with it, but also to where it's taken me.