There are hundreds, maybe more than a thousand, books in my house. They are strewn all about, on bookshelves, display cases, on the TV, around the computer, even in the kitchen. Then there are the magazines. Thousands upon thousands of issues, from Television to Reader’s Digest, and CHIP to Digit to Newsweek. Even the odd Nat Geo is seen lying around, mixed in with all the programming tomes and old school notebooks.
We’ve grown used to living with them. They seem content with just lying there gathering dust, waiting for one of us to rifle through them looking for something we missed before. Or a particularly good few pages that we’d like to read again. For our part, we provide them with a roof to exist under and occasionally pick one of them up, shake the dust off and carry it away somewhere to read and keep it back in another place, for someone else to pick up and read.
We, meaning my siblings and I, have grown up with them all around us. One of the first books I remember reading is the Reader’s Digest Family Medical Handbook. A thick volume full of illustrations and notes on treating various ailments. Among other things, it had a section for parents on teaching adolescents about reproduction. I didn’t know what I was reading at first, but suffice to say that a few years later, I was the first in my class to have found out some very surprising facts.
The books were our personal library. They got us reading and kept us hooked, from hiding under the covers with a light and reading through that Ira Levin novel that had that naked lady on the cover to reading through issue upon issue of thirty years of Television Magazine. Those magazines forged the tech-head circuitry into my mind better than any other form of motivation could.
Those books taught us about far away worlds, of protagonists fighting everything from terrorists to economic depressions. They described in minute detail what the world around us was made from. Regaled us with tales of bravery, adventures we would never have begun to imagine possible and stories that had us laughing out loud at every turn of a page. Created worlds in our heads we still escape to, people of outstanding moral fiber who we tried to emulate and a plethora of theories on everything from the creation of the earth to it’s destruction, leaving us to pick and choose at whatever piqued our curiosity.
What I mean to say is, I am what I am because of books. Everything I write, everything you see, and if you’ve ever met me, things I say and do, are 80% those books living through me. Although, the contents of this blog might lead you to question the contents of those books. And I think my brother hoarded all the funny ones, the sneaky bastard.
Yesterday was the President of the world’s inauguration. It was apparently a biggie. I was happily tapping away at my phone on eBuddy in the comfort of my bed. These moments, I wish to God I’d read more of them.
Anyway, speaking of Obama, a lot of people have him pinned as the reincarnation of Jesus. Why would he be any different just because he’s black? He’s not even really black, more brownish. I don’t recall such a fuss when Clinton was around(Granted I was around five when he was inaugurated 😛 ). But whatever, I’m far from knowing what I’m talking about in politics. But I am pretty sure you people put too much faith in your politicians, and stop trying to pin that cynic badge on me.