Bob Woodward, �Veil: The Secret Wars of the CIA 1981 � 1987�
Getting the majority of my books used as I do, I�ve seen my share of writing in the margins. I�ve never totally grasped the phenomenon. Sometimes, if I�m working on a book for a �real� magazine review, I�ll bracket something that stands out so I can find it later. On occasion, I�ve drawn a picture of myself next to the text, looking either happy or pissed off, depending on what the author just wrote. For the most part, I just leave it alone.
When I was courting my psychotic-not-yet-girlfriend, I let her borrow my copy of The Grapes of Wrath, and when she returned it, there were scribblings on nearly every page. Most of these were notes to me on whether she liked or disliked a particular passage, but occasionally she seemed to be talking to herself.
Remember, she�s psychotic.
I tried the notes in the margin thing for a short while after seeing what she was doing, but quickly gave it up. Things I wrote down in the small amount of space didn�t have any exposition and were usually based on my mood at the time, so if I looked back at what I wrote, say, six months later, I wouldn�t know what the fuck I was talking about.
Anyhoo, so I�m reading this book, and there�s some writing in tight pencil on the majority of the first chapters. Since it�s a nonfiction book with a large cast of characters, most of the notes seemed to be an attempt to keep straight on which person did what in what position.
Well, that sounded dirty. All right!
The notes started to trail off, but right about the point where William Casey was casually telling his staff to draw out plans to murder Castro, this person wrote, �Why does a high-ranking government official need to use such bad language?�
What the fuck?
This is why I don�t write in books anymore. In a moment of drunkenness, I might write something that stupid. And since I�m pretty sure that when I die, people won�t respect my demands to bury me with all my stuff, somebody might come across something I wrote in one of these books, and write about it in an anonymous blog.
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Well, it�s New Years Eve, it�s raining, and I�m at work. Apparently, buying books isn�t the first thing on people�s minds today, as it is dead as fuck in here...
It figures that an hour after I posted this, it became busy as fuck. �Why, yes! I would love nothing more than to dig through 27 boxes of your cobweb covered books that are infested with cockroaches! Thank you! Thank you!�
Kill me.
As for plans for tonight � Uh... Newcastle is on sale. That�s a start. Anybody want to pick me up after work, whisk me off to an incredibly fun party or event or something and make me actually enjoy myself?
That sounded dirty as well. Two for two!
Call me a pessimist (oh please, call me a pessimist!), but if events from the last couple of days are any kind of indicator, the next year is going to suuuuuuuuck.
