shamed

The other day a friend I was chatting with asked me if I had read anything good lately. My mind blanked and so I replied truthfully that at the moment I was re-reading some Norah Roberts and that I had over read Christine Feehan to the point of being unreadable. I cringed even as I sent it. WTF?! Am I trapped in some kind of time warp? These books were ones I was reading in High School when they were still slightly contraband (my mom had given up by then but my dad still disapproved) it seemed ridiculous that I was still reading them. Not that I have anything against these authors, I'll probably continue reading them into old age, but it seemed shameful that my literary taste had not evolved at all in 3 years. I think I really need to go to a library and arbitrarily (trying to remove the use of the word random from my vocabulary, I hate it when my dad is right...)grab books. Not to say that I haven't read ANY good books, the other week I read Middlesex, but apparently it was so unforgettable that I didn't think to mention it to my friend.