A friend has (with the owner's permission) on-lent me a copy of Ellen Willis' Don't Think, Smile: Notes on a Decade of Denial. It's a collection of essays on US Politics in the nineteen-nineties from a long-standing libertarian feminist (think I got that right). I've also picked up a copy of Lyndall Ryan's The Aboriginal Tasmanians from the local library (damn thing's finally turned up back on the shelves).
Once I finish that, I might take up a friend's suggestion and nick down to that big foreign-owned book store in Prahran, and settle into one of their comfy chairs with a copy of Keith Windschuttle's chainsaw job on the Aboriginal History Establishment. I know this probably counts as theft of intellectual property, but I think the possibilities of book-hurling in a large bookstore are too good to miss. Besides the opportunity to achieve new personal bests for force and distance, there's the added frisson of maybe catching one of the business geeks in the Personal Motivation section a good clip behind the ear with the spine of a well-aimed book. By the way, I know that I'm supposed to read Windschuttle first, but I'm going to do this my way, so shut up about it.
For leisure reading, I've picked up Necroscope: