Weblog entry:
- A day in.
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So I’ve joined this book club.
I can hear you snickering. Or shrugging. Or both, which I imagine would be somewhat painful. At any rate, the decision to do so was largely dictated by my age. 26. Which, if you math good (which I do not), infers that I am two-fifths of a decade from 30, which in turn places me at seventy-five percent of the way toward forty. So, rather than slouching toward middle-age crises in a lackadaisical way over the next fourteen years, I’m going whole hog into the experience now. Ergo, bookclubs. No doubt to be followed by the rest of the halfway-there experience: knee-high socks, “Piggly Wiggly” baseball caps, and a sinking feeling that maybe Pat Benatar isn’t so bad after all.
So this all leaves me attempting to burn through a copy of Chaim Potok’s Old Men At Midnight. Tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I heart ol’ Chaim…or rather, “DJ P-tok” to his friends. The Chosen is one of my all-time perennial-like favorites. But tonight, I have nothing but contempt for the man; or rather, I grumble at him and his oeuvre simply because my time management sucks (well, that and I’ve got oeuvre-envy). I am unable to express how my little flying crane kick into last-minute book-cramming is hurting no one other than myself, so I’ll instead rage silently against one of the better authors of the last century who, funnily enough, up and stopped breathing last year.
I’m rather hungry.
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- 13th day of November 2003.
- Filed under Story, Rants.
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