1. Read naked. Yes, I am aware you can do this with physical printed books. But man, the papercuts are a bitch.

2. Purchase “Do You Remember Pong, 8-Tracks, and Betamax?” (This is an actual book.) Put it on my Kindle. Appreciate the irony.

3. Give it to Conan O'Brien. After seven months, take it back and give it to Jay Leno.

4. Pull it out during Valentine's Day dinner. “Oh, this old thing?”, I'll say. “Another beau gave it to me, darling Scoblie…” (My boyfriend is a comp sci phd. He won't know which one of us to be more jealous of.)

5. Put next to my bed. Drape cheap tapestry over it. Complain about how e-books have ruined the building blocks of grad-student furniture.

6. Every other week, call up Amazon and announce there are anagrammed instructions on terrorism in the bestseller of my choice. Watch said bestseller disappear from my, and every other, Kindle. Rinse and repeat.

7. Use the adjustable font to indicate volume and “intense poetry-reading voice” (you know the one) for my poetry readings. “There ONCE was a GIRL….FROM NANTUCKET.”

8. Give it to my grandmother. Watch as, within the space of two weeks, it miraculously acquires viruses unseen since 1994 and forwards every chain email it receives. How did you get four versions of AOL on a Kindle, Grammy?? This isn't even a computer!

9. Sprinkle glitter over it. Sell it on ebay as Edward Cullen's Kindle. Pay off my student loans.

10. Go to the line for iPads just as it opens up. Read Kindle prominently. Fake a loud orgasm. Yell at the crowd “I bet your new gadget can't do THAT, can it?! WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW??!!!”

1. Read naked. Yes, I am aware you can do this with physical printed books. But man, the papercuts are a bitch.

2. Purchase “Do You Remember Pong, 8-Tracks, and Betamax?” (This is an actual book.) Put it on my Kindle. Appreciate the irony.

3. Give it to Conan O'Brien. After seven months, take it back and give it to Jay Leno.

4. Pull it out during Valentine's Day dinner. “Oh, this old thing?”, I'll say. “Another beau gave it to me, darling Scoblie…” (My boyfriend is a comp sci phd. He won't know which one of us to be more jealous of.)

5. Put next to my bed. Drape cheap tapestry over it. Complain about how e-books have ruined the building blocks of grad-student furniture.

6. Every other week, call up Amazon and announce there are anagrammed instructions on terrorism in the bestseller of my choice. Watch said bestseller disappear from my, and every other, Kindle. Rinse and repeat.

7. Use the adjustable font to indicate volume and “intense poetry-reading voice” (you know the one) for my poetry readings. “There ONCE was a GIRL….FROM NANTUCKET.”

8. Give it to my grandmother. Watch as, within the space of two weeks, it miraculously acquires viruses unseen since 1994 and forwards every chain email it receives. How did you get four versions of AOL on a Kindle, Grammy?? This isn't even a computer!

9. Sprinkle glitter over it. Sell it on ebay as Edward Cullen's Kindle. Pay off my student loans.

10. Go to the line for iPads just as it opens up. Read Kindle prominently. Fake a loud orgasm. Yell at the crowd “I bet your new gadget can't do THAT, can it?! WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW??!!!”

But in reality, the Kindle's long battery life and offline reading features would allow me and my partner to keep up on news and carry maps/directions while traveling to disadvantaged areas. We're interested in clean water initiatives which have had dramatically more impact than some more expensive world health initiatives like the distribution of antibiotics.