Hand And Hand With Steven King

One of the nice things about Christmas is that I get my annual trip to Barnes and Noble. My wife urges all that wish to give me a gift, a precious few, to give me a gift card to the store. If you read, there is nothing like going to a book store, browsing and finally buying a book or two, or three or...

Once I am in Barnes and Noble, my wife disappears (probably to Hooters) and I am left alone with my best friends in the world, books. Books hold a power over me that I will always succumb to. I love reading with a passion. Left alone, I could, and ususally do, spend hours just looking and fondling the titles in the store. The only reason that I watch Pamela Anderson's show is because she works in a book shop. No, really.

It doesn't matter what the subject matter, except for romance novels; you have to draw the line somewhere, I will peruse. All the knowledge in the world lies in those tomes and I have drank deep from it's well (talk about alliteration!).

I can take a $20.00 gift card and come out with eight or nine books. Books that no one else wants, books that have long been out of print, books that are arcane or obscure and long ago best sellers. I am my own man, free to teach myself because a day that goes by without learning something is a day that is wasted.

I am a print junkie and no pronouncements of the end of the written word will stay me from obtaining my fix. Since I am by nature a lazynogoodbumwhojustsliesaboutthehouse, reading is a natural for me. I have been reading for fifty of my fifty something years and if I live another fiftysomething years I will be reading on my death bed. I don't know everyting in the world but don't get into a trivia contest with me because I am the King of Sna. Look that up in your Funk and Wagnel.

Sadly, there are not many of us left. We are a dying breed, unable to change with the times. The fact that I am writing this on the Net is proof that I am, reluctantly, evolving. Perhaps I should appeal to the Creative Designer about that.

So the moral is, read. Read until your eyeballs bleed; were it possible, there would be blood on the screen. Reading not only is fundamental, it is essential. And a handy excuse for not mowing the lawn.

Oops, here come my wife, quick, I'll hid in the Barbara Courtland section, she'll never find me here.

Good-bye and, as Ollie Twists always says, Sir, can I have another?