Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read. -Groucho Marx

I’m certainly no curmudgeon when it comes to gadgety, techy wastes of money, but I really thought I was above buying an eReader. Apparently not.

After pooh-poohing the iPad, I marched right down to my neighborhood Barnes & Noble and picked up my very own Nook. I waffled a lot in the previous two weeks between the Amazon’s Kindle and Nook, doing what I do when faced with any meaningless decision: I researched it to death. It was no longer fun, so I pulled the trigger and it was time to join the aught tens.

“This will get you to read more!” “Just think of the money you’ll save on new releases!” “Trees don’t dream of becoming paper!” “All the cool kids are doing it!” The excuses continued even after I bought it. But let’s start with that first claim.

In my youth (or earlier youth, if you still consider me youthful), I read voraciously. I read during meals, flipped pages during classes, stayed up until 2 a.m. on school nights. I could easily burn through several substantial books a week, which worked well in tandem with my library card. It was a Wonka ticket for my addiction.

And then I scooted off to college and discovered girls (and my accompanying neuroticism), and reading took a back seat. Really, it was worse than that. I don’t remember opening a book for pleasure.

Fresh with degree and finally living on my own, I started reading occasionally once again. I had never stopped devouring news and other non-fiction on the web, but now I was picking up occasional novels. This was enough to push me into the second stage of my addiction.

My first trip to Chicago found me wandering into a used book store, Wicker Park’s Myopic Books. Imagine a place chock full of hipsters, each browsing for that diamond in the rough amid pine shelves stacked unsafely toward second floor ceilings. Open until the wee hours of the morning (1 a.m. some nights!), the place oozed book cred and I spent a pretty penny there.

It became so bad that I soon wasn’t reading any of the books I bought. I’d buy in advance, hoarding them for a future date. Any trip to a new city involved at least another half-dozen added to my collection. My bookshelves replicated and I now have a library where two-thirds remain untouched.

Roger Ebert has the same “disease.” And so do nearly 600 commenters on his post. Delicious irony when a movie man uses the Internet to proclaim his book hoarding love! I subscribe to a beautiful quote from sci-fi writer Harlan Ellison: “Who wants a library full of books you’ve already read?”

So why the hell would I need a Nook? Good question. My friend Micah has mocked me on this for some time. But the sexy lust of gadgetry was too much. Too much for a mere man to thwart. I had to try it.

That’s not to say that the Nook isn’t good; if I traveled extensively or read romance novels like I put away cereal, then it would be worth every penny. The e-ink screen really does look remarkably like a printed sheet of paper. We aren’t accustomed to looking at something digital from any angle and having it remain sharp and contrasty – nor are we used to something electronic lasting several weeks without charging. And the break from my 24-hour computer lifestyle that includes being a web editor at work was blissful. Eye strain was negligible. And paired with Instapaper, I suddenly could handle reading long-form writing from magazine websites.

The public domain options were endless. David Copperfield, A Tale of Two Cities, The Art of War, The Island of Doctor Monroe – I can go on indefinitely. Some I read in school, but many were never attempted. This was the perfect opportunity to become an intelligent literista!

Among those expired copyright tomes was “Fanny Hill” by John Cleland. This 1700s novel holds the distinction for being one of the most banned and persecuted books in history. And for what? This seemingly innocuous title holds page after page of the first original English prose pornography.

So as I “flipped” through this dirty (eDirty?) book a few days ago and chuckled at the obtuse references to genitalia (cough – a maypole!), I realized that I really didn’t need this. Not now, and maybe not ever.

Reading is social. Or should be. The very act of seeing another human being with eyes darting across letters makes you respect them just an ounce more. You may notice the title, then accidentally lock glances and perhaps a small smile is born. The day is better. You’ve gained a small insight into who that person really is: they’re a thinking person. Imagine this repeated in both lavish and simple libraries and bookstores across the world. Could this still be accomplished through bits and bytes?

The Barnes & Noble store was sent into confusion when I arrived to return the paperweight on Sunday. The girl behind the counter – a near facsimile of Keira Knightley’s wispy frame, but very likely even cuter – had to get a manager. Together they accepted their first Nook return, but not without asking several times for my reason. “Just not for me,” I said. Pressed further, I expanded a bit: “I miss the book covers.” The middle-aged manager seemed perplexed, even sad. Although no tears escaped, it was as if I had insulted the beauty of her newborn. The girl, however, smiled a bit and said she understood.