While I was in Crete, as well as right before and even before that, I was reading books by Gromov and the Dyachenkos. For those out of the loop, they are leading Russian sci-fi authors. What follows is about Gromov, not Crete, so if you don't feel like it, don't read.
Yes, I am unable to overcome my passion for reading all kinds of crap instead of useful things. No, sci-fi is not useful, you are mistaken. What seems like deep philosophical thoughts to you is just a basic, layman-friendly packaging of bright ideas, whether they were pilfered or concocted by hand. (A writer, obviously, partly thinks with their hands, so that's not a slip of the tongue).
I am far from assigning books a purely entertaining function, but let's not overestimate them. Reading 100 works of fiction gives you as much experience as a few days of real action, and way more shitting up of your brain with useless junk. Scientific and educational books are another matter, but I personally can't bring myself to read them regularly.
If we continue this line of reasoning, a blog review of sci-fi is little more than static noise. Nevertheless, I keep this journal for pleasure, so as long as it brings me graphomaniac joy, I will keep writing.