Don’t pop my sheep

My strained corneas need a rest. But, ever the sadistic labor-driver, I push the tired little things onward for selfish, gluttonous reasons.

This summer, my eyeballs – which are already abused daily when I shove a foreign object called “”contacts”” into them – are plowing through hundreds of pages of books. Long gone, however, are the endless nights of skimming over Eastern European politics and the countless pages that analyze communications.

(Well, not really LONG gone. It’s actually only been six weeks since spring quarter ended. And, actually, I am enrolled in summer session. But let’s be honest here. It’s the laid-back summer session, precisely the time to let the mind eat some empty calories and disregard that whole ‘food for thought’ notion.)

Here’s the difference: I am veering far from the path of reading only obscure, esoteric books and plummeting headfirst into the world of reading for fun.

In spite of what I should be reading and what I have been assigned to read, in reality I am devouring books for sheer, guilty pleasure.

Unless, of course, the philosophical subtleties or economic theories of the latest Harry Potter installment are just too much for me to grasp.

So, while the eyes are still trudging through their regular workout, my brain was at first a bit confused. What is this? Brain asked. Am I not supposed to be committing every detail to memory? Am I actually supposed to understand this stuff the first time through?

The answer? Yes.

The reason? My brain is the one that really needs the rest.

I remember the first trip to the UCSD bookstore, excitedly traipsing back to my dorm (a hellish cinder-block cell, the inspiration of all that is torturous) laden with pages of academia, excited to tackle stacks of books. I pity that naïve, feeble former self.

Now, a stack of textbooks summon a feeling of imminent doom – not excitement – like nobody’s business in my more worldly self.

This summer, however, I am taking the path less traveled at UCSD. I am reading things that people like, that people talk about and that can be read in one night of unadulterated pleasure. Moreover, these books don’t cost me half a paycheck.

I started first with (this is where I really lost all my inhibitions – may as well get off to a raucous start, right?) “”Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.”” I read it hungrily, feasting on all that is entertaining and good.

Harry Potter is my new idol. I thank J.K. Rowling profusely for creating him. I haven’t gone so far off the deep end that’s he is real to me, and I swear I do not flounce around in wizardly garb, but I still tell everyone I know to read it.

Even die-hard cynics who I’ve pleaded with to read the book like it. I am a reformed Potter-cynic and stumbled upon the books a few years ago, during an ungodly hour of the night when I should have been studying. After the first book, I was hooked and a full-fledged member of the Harry Potter cult.

So, imagine my delight when the “”Order of the Phoenix”” came out for the summer and I got my hands on it. Read it – it’s not only the best narrative – it is the most economical. Weighing in at 900 pages, this really has more bang for your buck than those wimpy 740 pages of the fourth Harry Potter book.

After that novel engagement, I was ready for something else – I had remembered how nice it was to sit around and read without the pressure of learning breathing down my neck. So, I purchased the book full of the most fluff I could find, “”The Nanny Diaries,”” by Nicola Kraus and Emma McLaughlin. (By the way, it’s probably still on sale at Costco. Costco! I was buying books at Costco!)

This book was a close up of Manhattan socialites, how they raise their children and how they treat their nannies – always a recipe for hilarity. The protagonist is called Nanny during the entire book by clients, friends and family.

I was addicted. Though it was horribly self-deprecating for Nanny, it comes off as pure humor.

Then it was “”The Devil Wears Prada”” by Lauren Weisberger. Let’s just say that I took the dust jacket off this book, so no one knew what I was actually reading. Though the usual fare of a career-minded woman in the publishing industry surrounded by evil bosses and well-dressed people, this was still a guilty pleasure. Get this one on sale.

Initially, I set out to learn nothing at all, just read for the heck of it and maybe have a few laughs along the way. I did just that, and since I know that I won’t be seeing these books on any professor’s syllabus anytime soon, it was worth the respite.

In the end, I learned that I do not want to battle a dark lord, I definitely do not want to be a nanny, and I cannot afford Prada (and probably won’t be able to for a very long time).

I also learned, however, that working out my eyeballs on a book is not the chore it has become in the last three years and that I should not feel so guilty for reading these books. There is plenty more time for political and communications theory. And, what’s more, there is always a little room for reading some fluff – our minds need some passive fun every once in awhile.