Reading is Fundamental
I don't know about you, but I absolutely love to read. Every night I curl up in bed with a good book. Unless it's "Relations Month" with Mrs. Penwasser. She's such a good sport. Hey, it could be worse. On second thought, no it couldn't.
Anyway, I can usually last a good 15 minutes before I start to get drowsy (coincidentally, when reading AND during maritals). As soon as the words on the page start scattering like my relatives when the check comes, I know I'm done (with reading).
Unless I'm reading right before the aforementioned "Monthly Happy Time." Then, I'm waiting her out. In fact, I once read the entire Bible waiting for the bedroom light to go off. At which time I deployed the dreaded "claw." Did I mention she's a good sport?
I usually find enjoyment with all sorts of books. As a rule, though, my favorite genre is non-fiction.
I've read this work of non-fiction, although I at first thought it was a horror story about an experiment gone bad. Sorta like an Island of Dr. Moreau thing. Or Mr. Ed getting drafted.
This one wasn't bad. It told of a gentler time before the European invasion. A time when the solitude of a walk through the forest primeval was disturbed only by the siren call of bands of friendly Mayans. Who clubbed you in the noggin and spirited you off to their city. So they could rip the heart from your chest for their chicken god. I hear the sequel, 1492, was a lot like this book. Only with guns fired by men who didn't bathe.
Even though non-fiction is my favorite, sometimes I run the real risk of falling asleep before it's "time" (you know what I mean). In that case, I like to jazz up my reading with a little historical fiction. The beauty of these is that they present history in a more reader-friendly format. Breathing life into characters long since dead, they infuse the story with often gripping narratives. Plus, they usually contain dirty parts. Although, I sometimes question their actual historical accuracy. For instance, I don't think Caesar exactly said, "I saw. I conquered. I came."
Whenever I get tired of non-fiction, I'll usually opt for classic works of fiction by the masters: Hawthorne, Melville, Cooper, or Dickens (mostly because his name makes me laugh). Unless it's tales of vampires, ghouls, congressmen, ghosts, or bloodsuckers that I crave. Then, I turn to something by Stephen King. The fact that he looks like some of his characters makes it a bonus, too.
Remember that episode of "Seinfeld" when George had to buy a book because he took it into the bathroom? Then, when he tried to return it, he was told that, since it was "flagged," there was no way he could get rid of it? Well, this book makes no excuses about where you'll be reading it. Good thing it has a plastic cover.
I'll never admit it, but I need to read SOMEthing in the checkout line. Plus, how else would I have known that Prince William was getting married? Kirstie was fat? Michael was white? Before Michael was dead? Or that I need to send Britney a get-well card?
Sometimes, though, there is absolutely nothing to read in the house. No sense trying the newspaper. That crap is downright depressing. Oh, by the way, sidebar your honor? Why do we get a receipt when we buy a newspaper? Is that so we can get our money back if we don't like the news? "Excuse me, that whole Libya thing isn't what I expected. Can I have my fifty cents back?"
Carrying on, I remember panicking last week when I'd read all the available books in my house, I didn't have rubber gloves for the Bathroom Reader, we weren't going to the supermarket, and I had already read all the care labels in my underwear.
Then, I remembered the cereal...
Yep, I guess you could say that I'M the type of person who reads INSIDE a cereal box.
Oops. I think I just heard the bedroom light snap off.