Books are dead. Long live books.

Tonight I finally found a respectable used book store in Orange County. In the nearly 11 years since I've lived here, I haven't been able to locate one worthy of satisfying my used booklust. Admittedly, my search hasn't been exhaustive, but until tonight, the ones I have visited have paled in comparison to those I knew in Arizona.

I love the smell of books. If walking into a Barnes & Noble is like walking into a hospital nursery and inhaling the life-affirming scent of newborn skin, then walking into a used bookstore is kind of like entering your grandmother's closet. The fragrance of dust and decay permeates the air. Yet, it is a strangely familiar, comforting odor. I caught myself involuntarily smiling tonight as I walked through towering rows of aging books.

I like Borders as much as the next guy, but a good used bookstore is simply more honest. Genuine. No Millennials squatting wi-fi while they casually browse Manga between sips of latte. In a used bookstore, it's all about the books.

I speak often of the pivotal time my generation has witnessed. Particularly with regards to the Information Age. Generation X was born into a computer-less wilderness. We soon suckled at the digital tit of Atari and lost our binary virginity to TRS-80s and Commodore 64s. Now, we languish hedonistically among our smartphones, broadband and social networks, dreaming of convergent video and fluffy white cloud computing.

Meanwhile, the vestiges of the analog world continue to wither and die around us. I see it in my business as print shops, magazines and newspapers struggle for survival.

And now, Kindle and iPhone flames are licking at the bone-dry tinder that is the printed book. Our ravenous craving for mobility, fueled by eco-minded accelerant, is threatening to rapidly consume my beloved books. (Funny, kindle means to arouse or inspire. It also means to ignite or set on fire.)

So tonight I celebrate the used bookstore and the musty, mildewy glory that only aging paper can evoke. I feel the urge to hurry. To buy hardback versions of my favorite books and retire them safely to my home where they can live out their golden years in solace. Where I can turn from my bright, high contrast monitor to look lovingly upon their yellowing pages and know, soon enough, they'll be relics of another time.

I encourage you to go find a used bookstore and revel in its nobility. The experience is reminiscent of walking through a graveyard. But it offers the same tranquil opportunity to commune with those that came before us as we prepare to start our next chapter.