101 Philosophers

So I have yet to bite the bullet and conform to the new fandangled way of the world. I have not yet transitioned from the old fashioned world of physically turning the page to the science fiction voodoo of e-readers. Call me old fashioned, call me cheap, call me technologically ignorant, but I still prefer cracking the spine and turning the pages of books that came from the good old fashioned art of rain-forest-genocide. A few of the reasons I still purchase books are the fact that when people come over they are impressed by my vast library, I never have to worry about buying glass figurines to decorate my bookshelves with (I keep them in a decorative box under my bed because they are for me to look at and nobody else), and I still really enjoy going to bookstores to browse. The problem with buying books is that they have become so damn expensive, and branching out is difficult to do. I am constantly looking for recommendations from people I know, but there are only so many times I can tolerate being told “the Twilight Saga was soooooooooooo good.”  Unless you are a thirteen year old girl…NO IT WASN’T!!!!!!!

While browsing through my local Bookstore-Corporation-Location the other day I came across the sale section. This is the greatest place to find books simply because you can pick up a hardcover for like six bucks, and only be a few years behind on the author’s story arc. As long as I don’t constantly look to see when new books are coming out I think I’m up to date. But this is not the point. My point is you never know what little gem you might run across on the sale table, and I found an interesting little title that I thought I would try out. It is Madsen Pirie’s 101 Great Philosophers, and it’s great for a simpleton like me who likes to think they know a little bit about philosophy. So the premise is there is an ancient tribe of nomads who are in search of a magical amulet that will free the immortal tiger-god from its prison…no its not. It’s a list of 101 philosophers.

This may sound like a waste of time, but the beauty of this is that each entry on the philosophers is only 1 ½ pages. Trust me I have read a little bit of Bertrand Russell’s A History of Western Philosophy, and have found that philosophy is hard. There are big words and abstract concepts that make me feel stupid. I may not be the smartest person I know, but I can read words that are strung together. The problem is that in philosophy you will read four pages and end up having no idea what the author was talking about. Pirie does a good job of hitting the key points of particular philosophies, and not filling it with overly complicated philosophical jargon. This is a good starting point for anyone who might be interested in philosophy, but doesn’t necessarily want to do the legwork of sifting through thousands of years of philosophical work. Pirie briefly explains the philosopher’s ideas and relevance and then references some of their work. It’s not complicated and if nothing else you will learn a few new names of past intellectuals, and hopefully be able to throw a little philosophy into your next pick up line, I’m thinking something to the effect of:

“Baby you must have been what Leibniz meant when he said that God made the universe the best of all possible ones. I couldn’t imagine a perfect world without you.”

And then you could use the Socratic Method to convince her that turning you down is the wrong choice.

Surely this would work on an attractive lady in a bar (as long as she hadn’t read Candide). I don’t know, I haven’t tried to pick up a girl in a long time…my wife doesn’t allow it. Surely philosophy is a turn on…right? If not you can lead in with some interesting tidbit from the previous night’s episode of Jersey Shore.

Anyway, go check out this book and see if you can enhance your knowledge of philosophy one page at a time.

Oh Clive....So sentimental

I'm a pretty big fan of Clive Cussler, and think the guy can tell one hell of a story, but it seems that as he advances in years he has become increasingly more sentimental. I know it's very difficult not to become attached to your characters, especially the ones you have been writing about since the 70s, but enough is enough. The books I'm mainly talking about are those that make up the Dirk Pitt series.

First off you should know that the God awful movie Sahara was based on one of these books, but I'm comfortable saying that the failure of this movie was more Matthew Mcconaughey's fault than anyone's. Maybe we can throw the whole cast in there, I'm not sure I only made it halfway through. The next time Hollywood makes a film adaptation of a book they need to make sure that the screenplay writer has actually read the book. (Atlas Shrugged Part I anyone?)

Let's move on to my point. Throughout Clive's work he has always added himself as a character named...you guessed it Clive Cussler. Seriously in one book he tells Dirk to call him dad. I could kind of let this slide if his fictional alter ego was the same character every time, but nope he changes. Dirk Pitt has probably met "Clive Cussler" at least 10 times and every time it seems to be in a different scenario. Like I said, Cussler is one hell of a story teller, but come on. Let's get a little separation. Let's just stay out of it. It seems that every time his character appears he comes into the story to provide a little help to Dirk, and this is always in some minor way. Cussler- you are the author. You don't need to be in the story to save Dirk. You are writing the damn thing so technically you save him every time he gets into a scrape.

Whether he considers my recommendation or not (because I know most famous authors read this) doesn't matter, I will continue to read his books. Like Patterson's Cross series I have become attached to the characters, but unlike Patterson Cussler still dedicates enough time to his books that make them good reads. If you have never read these they are worth picking up. If you don't find them particularly interesting you can always turn it into a game of "Where's Cussler?"

We're back (hopefully)

So it has definitely been a bit, and I would like to blame this on life being busy, but ultimately it comes down to the fact that I am pretty lazy and kind of forgot about the blog. My bad. I would like to apologize to the one or two people who have actually taken the time to open my little musings (Thanks Mom!) and am now wholly dedicated to keeping up with this fine literary tool. That's right...tool.

So here we go.

I finally finished War and Peace and will ultimately have a long and boring in-depth post for it, but for now I'd like to bring up something that has been bothering me. Patricia Cornwell.

If you have never read any of her books I would highly recommend them, although her main character can come across as a raging Man-Hater every once in awhile. I'm OK with this to a certain extent (we can be dicks sometimes, and I accept that), but what I cannot accept is the fact that Cornwell decided to change the way her books were written.

The first books in the Kay Scarpetta series were written in the First person, and for some unknown reason she decided to switch to third. This may seem like a trivial detail, but remember how I mentioned her character can come across as a Man-Hater? Well now she is a Cold-hearted-Man-Hating-She-Beast from Medical School Hell. Whatever reason Cornwell had in making this switch better have been a good one because Kay Scarpetta is kind of a bitch now. I now understand why Marino was  always telling her this. I do have a theory about this swtich...can we say GHOST-WRITER? I hope that is not the case, but you never know. Why else would you F-up a formula that has worked for some twenty or so books.

All the series authors out there...STOP CHANGING MY CHARACTERS!

Something to Think About

Possessing potential for Greatness,
yet wrought with inner fear.
I teeter on the edge of action,
but fall complacently back to here.
It is the change of life that scares me,
the thought of failing too great to bear.
It makes me wonder if my mentors
were as easily prone to scare.

This seemed appropriate after reading Steinbeck's journals. Apparently the greats "were as easily prone to scare." Something to think about.

Steinbeck's Journals

A couple of days ago I read the journals of John Steinbeck that he kept while he was writing The Grapes of Wrath, and it was great. I couldn't believe some of the entries. It is no secret that I am a huge Steinbeck fan and I was looking forward to reading his daily journals as he was writing one of the best American novels of all time. The interesting part about his entries was how little self-confidence he had. He constantly said things like, "This isn't any good", "I'm not a writer", "Nobody is going to read this", it was unbelievable. Apparently nobody told him he was John-Freakin-Steinbeck. Some would argue that this was as he was starting out, but in actuality this was during one of the busiest times of his life.

As he was writing The Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men was in the middle of its run as a play, and was being met with critical acclaim. Hollywood was making the movie, he had offers to turn another one of his books In Dubious Battle into a play as wel. He was also buying a ranch and building a house. So the entire time he was writing one of his greatest works he was overloaded with other things going on in his life. He had given himself five months to finish the book, and surprisingly he was able to meet his goal. He had told himself that he would write 2,000 words everyday, and he was able to do it. Some days he would get ahead and then be able to go into town and get drunk with Charlie Chaplin, and other days he would fall behind, but in the end he was able to finish in the time frame that he had given himself.

It was great to be able to read his daily personal accounts of his working strategy, and talk about writing some of the best scenes in American Literary history. He would explain what his plan for the day was and say things like, "Today the Joads must make it across the desert", and I would say to myself "I READ THAT!!!"

It made me feel like in some way I was helping. He would write about how it wouldn't be any good, and I would reassure him that it would be great. It was a team effort. So if you have ever read The Grapes of Wrath...You're welcome.

Tarzan of the Apes

At the urging of someone at work I read Tarzan of the Apes the other day. You know the book that all of those movies were based on with the man in the loin clothe yelling some kind of throaty battle cry (which in the book seemed to be much more bad ass). Well I have never watched a Tarzan movie in its entirety but I have to say from what little of them I have seen they looked a tad cheesy. In the book Tarzan was this hardcore borderline demi-god that kicked some monkey ass and caught lions with a rope.He was hardcore. I am thinking that there needs to be a reboot with a little CGI action. I mean imagine what we could do with the new Planet of the Apes special effects.

I know I would enjoy watching a ripped jungle man in a loin clothe wrestling a giant ape in defense of a southern bells honor (in a completely heterosexual way of course).The story itself is cool and if you can get over the somewhat cheesy dialogue it is a good read. Of course the actual book is a little different from the Hollywood version. Some of the characters are the same and his love interest is the well known Jane, but there is no conversation where he says in broken English "Me Tarzan, you Jane" which I found to be a little disappointing, but he did learn to speak French. Who would have thought that Tarzan spoke French...whatever.

I would like to say that I was soooooooo disappointed with the ending, but will not divulge why in case anyone actually wants to read the book, but I will say that Tarzan gets dumped on.

All in all it was a good book, and a quick read. I enjoyed it and it is one of those books that everyone should read simply because it made such a lasting impression on our culture. Hell even Disney made a Tarzan movie. I don't think I saw that one either, although I vaguely remember Rosie O'Donnell being a monkey, which seems appropriate (maybe she could be recast in a live action role as his ape mother).

So pick up Tarzan of the Apes and get in touch with your inner primate.

Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar...

This is one of the best philosophy books I have ever read. Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar... explains philosophical concepts with clear definitions and through the evaluation of jokes. These guys are freaking hilarious. They provide just about every concept with a joke that corresponds with what they are teaching, such as explaining British Empiricist Philosophy with this:

Morty comes home to find his wife and best friend, Lou,  naked in bed. Just as Morty is about to open his mouth, Lou jumps out of the bed and says, "Before you say anything, old pal, what are you going to believe, me or your eyes?

Of course they explain the correlation between the joke and Empiricism, which is basically the belief that senses are the primary path to knowledge, and questions what sort of information we can rely on. It's amazing that they take this philosophical argument, rationalism vs. empiricism, and give an example that is humorous and easily understandable. It is much easier to grasp the different sides of the argument in this example as opposed to trying to explain the idea of First Creation to someone with no previous background in philosophy. For a slow learner such as myself this is perfect.

My personal favorite example from the book is how they explain Illogical Reasoning.

     An Irishman walks into a Dublin bar, orders three pints of Guinness, and drinks them down, taking a sip from one, then a sip from the next, until they're gone. He then orders three more. The bartender says, "You know, they'd be less likely to go flat if you bought them one at a time." The man says, "Yeah, I know, but I have two brothers, one in the States, one in Australia. When we all went our separate ways, we promised each other that we'd all drink this way in memory of the days when we drank together. Each of these is for one of my brothers and the third is for me."
     The bartender is touched, and says, "What a great custom!"
     The Irishman becomes a regular in the bar and always orders the same way.
     One day he comes in and orders two pints. The other regulars notice, and silence falls over the bar.      
     When he comes to the bar for his second round, the bartender says, "Please aceppt my condolences, pal."
     The Irishman says, "Oh, no, everyone's fine. I just joined the Mormon Church , and I had to quit drinking."

HAHA...Mormon Church...get it?

Yeah so the entire book is filled with great stuff like that. If you are even remotely interested in Western philosophy (they don't really get into much Eastern stuff) then you should definitely check this book out. Even if you aren't that interested in philosophy the book is filled with great jokes.

You can buy the book here. Trust me it is worth it, and as an added bonus I guarantee that you will retain some of the information you read. So the next time you are sitting around discussing Existentialist theories with someone at work, you can through in your two cents worth.

I leave you with this, an example of a Paradox:

Pinocchio says: "My nose will now grow..."

Works in Progress

OK so I took on the task of reading War and Peace, and like a pretentious jerk I said to myself "I'm going to read this with a guide so I can understand all of the social references..." Well it has been about a month and I am only 500 pages in. The problem with my original theory was the fact that there was soooooo much going on, and I have little to no knowledge regarding Russia at the turn of the 19th century. That's OK though. I will continue to muscle through this until it is done, maybe next time I will pick up the Bible.

Even though I am taking forever getting through this I have to say that it is a great book so far. I suppose Virginia Woolf was right when she regarded War and Peace as the greatest novel ever written (I will allow that comment considering she died before a lot of things had been written...Atlas Shrugged). But even so, this is a heavy read and I've found that I have read about 5 trash books since I started reading this. You know...Trash Books.

Like Dean Koontz's Frankenstein series. They are quick interesting reads, but there is not too much thinking required when having to read one. Perfect for when I am trying to give my overwhelmed brain a break from Tolstoy (it doesn't take much to overwhelm me). There are five books in this series and they are entertaining. The stories are cool, and guess what...involve Frankenstein!!! Holy Crap! Didn't see that coming, but they are worth checking out. I have read the first three in the past few weeks and really like them.

One thing that I also just finished reading was Into the Wild. This was an incredibly interesting story that involved the college grad that gave away everything and hobo-ed around the country before dying in the Alaska wilderness. Crazy story, and I did not see the movie but I heard it was pretty good. My only problem with the book was the way Jack Krakauer wrote the damn thing. It just was not enough to turn into a stand alone book. What Krakauer lacked in evidence and facts he had to make up for with filler stories that seemed to take away form the actual story. He just didn't have enough information to make a full length book, and it made reading the thing repetitive and boring. I imagine that if the makers of the movie had used a little bit of creative license the movie would have been great. I would recommend that you save yourselves some time though and either rent the movie or read his original 9,000 word article.

So in conclusion skip Krakauer, read Koontz. (that may sound shallow, but it is the truth)

The Beat Generation

I have always enjoyed reading about different literary and lifestyle movements and have recently found myself immersed in Beat literature by authors like Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Allen Ginsberg. These guys were the best thing that happened to American literature since Walt Whitman. They just decided that they didn't really fit into anything so they would just make something up that fit them.

Recently I posted about Hunter S. Thompson and explained how I really liked his whole outlook on life, and the way he was up-front about everything. Well, the founders of the Beat generation lived this lifestyle 20 years before this was happening. The thing that gets me about On the Road, Howl, and Naked Lunch, is the fact that they were written in the 1940's. They really pushed the boundaries as far as censorship and the authors never worried about being accepted by the mass market. These guys were happy sitting around in a Greenwich Village apartment with some booze and "tea" reading and writing. They were like this cool hybrid of James Dean and Jerry Garcia. They lived like hippie hedonists, yet in a way that wasn't flamboyant and over the top. They were just laid back and made sure that they were open to all of the coolness in life.

These artists not only changed American Literature, but also changed our society. Living and writing about this counterculture that was taking shape was giving the rest of the world a glimpse of a society that was unapologetic for the way they were living their lives. They felt no need to hide the fact that they were experimenting with drugs, sexuality, and social order from the masses, and were proud of the fact that they were looking for a good time. Just about anybody can relate to experiencing an inner desire to have a good time. Hell, that's the reason most of us have jobs, so we can fund our inner desires to live a fulfilling life. The difference is that these guys were very minimalistic when it came down to what they needed to in order to feel fulfilled.


It is really cool to be able to get lost in their stories, that are semi-autobiographical, and escape the world as I know it. I like to think that I would lead a life like this given the chance, but realistically it is probably much safer for me to live vicariously through the fiction of others.

Its been a while.

So I have not had a chance to post anything new, and frankly have not had time to write anyevaluations about any new books. So here are some papers I have recently written in some of my classes that are somewhat entertaining. Enjoy.

Fatherly Fears

            Growing up is a difficult process for most people, and for myself it has been a process that has been fought tooth and nail. It feels like I was hanging out with my friends in high school just yesterday, but sadly this was years ago. After graduating the real world came at me at an extremely fast pace, and I feel as though I am a couple of laps behind. When you are young you never think about a mortgage, insurance, gas, electricity, or even water, but when you experience the “freedom” of the real world these are the things that you must learn to take care of for yourself. It has been almost ten years since I graduated high school, and there are many things that I find myself still trying to master, and last year I was met with the most difficult challenge of my adult life, my wife was pregnant. The excitement I felt when learning that I was going to be a dad was quickly overcome with a feeling of sheer terror at the realization that I was going to be responsible for a human life. I am barely surviving as an adult, how will I take care of a child? My wife and parents found my debilitating fear amusing, and kept telling me that I would “figure it out”. Figure what out? Babies scare me. There was no hope; I just knew that I was going to fail.

            The first six weeks were not bad, simply because when they are that age they don’t do much except eat and sleep, and it helped that my wife, Megan, would be on maternity leave so she would be home at all times. I had a little bit of supervised practice feeding and changing, and was never out of earshot of calling for backup. This helped, and I was able to gain some confidence. I started getting comfortable with the little one, Sophie, around the end of week five, and was feeling pretty good about my abilities to warm a bottle and change a diaper while only using two wipes (apparently half of a box was not necessary, as I had originally assumed). Then my world was shattered, I had my first night alone when my wife went back to work. I felt that I exuded a certain confidence that helped to put my wife at ease, but on the inside I was a terrified child. I was praying that I did not end up burning down the house or losing the baby on a city bus (I am not sure why I was worried about a bus, but I had seen a Friends episode so I knew it was a possibility).

            The night started off smoothly with just a couple of average sized diapers and some uneventful feedings, but then around three in the morning all hell broke loose. It started when she woke up and quickly realized that I was not mommy, and that mommy apparently was not coming. She did not like this, and for this I cannot blame her since I would much rather wake up to seeing my wife than my unshaved face in the middle of the night. She flipped out and was screaming as though she was being set on fire, which I swear was not the case. This seemed to set the next couple of hours in motion. After finally getting the bottle warm enough for her to eat and into her mouth I got her to calm down. I figured that upon her eating things would settle down, but then I ran into another problem. As we were sitting in the chair enjoying our quiet time, a giant spider ran across the floor into her little “bouncy-mobile-floor-play-thing”, I promptly took control of the situation and let out a little yelp. This of course scared her at which point she spit up about half of the bottle. After wiping her little adorable chin off, and dry heaving the entire time, I laid her on the changing table to get her out of her little night gown so I could change her. This was an event in itself; I never knew that an infant’s onesie had so many complicated buttons. I finally got a clean night gown equipped with penguin feet on her and laid her down in her crib to go back to sleep.

            She went to sleep nice and easy, and then I headed back to her room to find and destroy the intruder.  It took me a few minutes, and I had to move just about everything in the room to find him, but I finally ran the spider out to the middle of the room where an epic battle ensued, myself coming out as the victor. We had waged a brutal war and there were casualties on both sides, the aforementioned “bouncy-mobile-floor-play-thing” did not fare too well, but the room was safe once again. As I was wiping the sweat from my brow and relishing in my victory I heard cries coming from the other room, and I knew we had a problem.

            It seemed as though my little angel was awakened from her heavenly slumber by more projectile vomiting that had this time covered not only a penguin night gown but also the majority of the crib. I spent another twenty minutes or so changing her into a new night gown, this time with teddy bears, and a few more cleaning out the crib, which probably would have taken less time had I not been struck with sudden incapacitating retching. After everything, and everyone, was all cleaned up we took a little bit longer to get back to bed this time, and needed some Shel Silverstein mixed with a little smooth jazz to get her to finally give into falling asleep. She probably did not trust closing her eyes for fear of what might happen, and I really can’t blame her, but once she did everything went just fine. After she drifted off, I passed out in a heap of exhaustion on the bed; it had been a long night.

            I was awakened by the refreshing glow of the morning sun, and my wife standing over me poking me. I was a little disoriented, and it took me a few minutes to get my bearings, but she was wondering why the baby room was a complete wreck, and why Sophie was wearing a night gown that was on backwards. I recounted the events of the night, and explained how the mess made in her room was the result of a life and death struggle between the forces of god and evil, and how I think my infant daughter had eaten some bad Thai food because she obviously had a stomach problem. Luckily my wife understood the situation and just sighed and told me to go back to sleep, that I deserved it. I felt that I had earned that right. She picked up Sophie and took her into her room to change her and feed her again, while I laid back and reflected upon a job well done. I knew that I was on my way to becoming an adult.

Here is another one.

Achieving Zen in the Rain

The United States have been associated with freedom throughout their relatively short history, and because of this people have been drawn to America and its land of opportunities ever since its discovery. While people that are from different countries are enamored by the promises of America, many Americans often times take our freedoms for granted. The culture in our country is often overlooked, and there are many Americans that go their entire lives without experiencing the majestic qualities of this country for themselves. I am able to recognize this and felt that I was one of these people, and decided to do something about it. My grand idea for experiencing what America had to offer and how to go about searching for the freedom and allure that is associated with our country was to take a road trip down the coast on my motorcycle, the ultimate representation of freedom and a way to truly observe what America had to offer.

            My plan was simple; I would start from my house on a Friday afternoon and head for the coast, and eventually make my way back home on Sunday. I had no plans or predetermined restrictions that I was going to hold myself to. I just knew that the way to experience the true sense of escaping the world and achieving that elusive freedom that was so often referred to was to not limit myself to plans or restrictions. I would follow the coast and achieve a life changing clarity that I knew could only come from a motorcycle road trip. I’m no fool, I have seen Easy Rider and have read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and I knew that all I needed was the open road and the wind in my face to achieve that clarity that is so often sought in our lives. I was positive that I would have an experience that would prove the validity of Existentialism and would make Kierkegaard proud; after all I have seen it happen in the movies.

            With this mentality I set out. The first day was very uneventful from a perspective of someone that is searching to achieve philosophical clarity, and by nightfall I found myself in a cheap motel a few blocks off of the beach just south of Virginia Beach. I had not made the groundbreaking advancements that I had originally anticipated in the beginning, but I was not deterred as I knew the trip was just beginning. The next day I continued my quest south along the coastal highway, and kept a sharp eye open so I would not miss my Siddhartha like moment of clarity. I even made sure that I was readily available to receive my gift of enlightenment by stopping by the ocean every few hours to just look at the water. Wasn’t this where many found their explanation for existence? So far in the trip I had found nothing and had not felt the epic sense of freedom that I knew was out there. Dejectedly I pointed my bike back north and prepared for my journey home.

            After spending all day Saturday riding, and spending the night at another roadside motel some blocks off of the main strip, I woke up on Sunday morning and prepared for the journey home. I swear I could smell the odor of the sheets even as I travelled seventy miles an hour down the road. I was just glad that I was done battling the freezing temperatures of the stone-age plumbing. At this point in my trip I was really beginning to feel as though my Zen like experience had been dropped off at the wrong mile marker, and I had simply passed it out there on one of the back roads, or maybe it was left on the main interstate. Whatever the case was I knew I had failed in the great American Road Trip. It seemed as though the weather was in synch with my melancholy mood, because a few hours from home the thunder clouds began to gather, and I knew I was about to get wet. This was perfect; I was on a back road that I knew would not be lined with gas stations to provide me with the sanctuary of shelter.

            As I continued down the highway looking for anything I could possibly use to seek refuge under I saw through the rain two blinking lights. I was hoping that it was a sign pointing out a gas station or roadside diner where I could wait out the storm. As I approached the lights though I noticed that they were the hazard lights of a vehicle that was stopped in the muddy bar ditch. I had not seen anyone on this road for at least seventy miles, and was surprised that such a nice car would be out this way. Getting closer I noticed that there was someone squatting in the mud beside the vehicle attempting to fix some problem that seemed to have left the vehicle and its driver in the current predicament. I figured that out of compassion for my fellow man I was obliged to stop and see if I could offer any assistance. I pulled up behind the vehicle, cutting the engine and turning on my own hazard lights, and proceeded to approach the stranded motorist. As I came upon the driver I noticed that it was a little old lady, and she was fervently attempting to change a flat tire.

             I introduced myself and proceeded to offer my assistance in hopes of getting off of the side of the road, and hopefully out of the still pouring rain. Upon inspecting the situation I realized that not only did the woman have a flat but she had also damaged here brake assembly when she hit the bar ditch, in other words we were not going to be able to fix the problem without some extensive mechanical knowledge, and access to a garage full of equipment. I pointed this out to the nervous woman and offered to call a tow truck. I tried for at least half an hour to find a signal for either one of our cell phones and walked up and down the road in search of reception. I finally gave up. At this point the woman was overwhelmed with worry, and had no idea what she was going to do. Luckily the woman was from this area and knew that there was a house about ten miles up the road that would have a land line. I heard this and wasted no time in starting up the bike and getting on the road to complete the task at hand. I told the poor woman to get in her car so she could stay out of the rain; I figured there was no sense in both of us catching pneumonia. It took me about fifteen minutes to arrive at the house and no time at all to find a tow truck company that was relatively close, and a driver that knew the area. After relaying the message I told the driver that I would head back and flash him down when I saw him.

            I arrived back to find the stranded motorist waiting patiently in her car. I explained to her that the tow truck was on its way, and that I would wait with her until it had arrived to make sure that she got on her way. She offered to let me wait in her car with her, but by this time I was covered in road grime that I was sure would forever have a direct effect on my outward appearance, leading people to the conclusion that I did not believe in bathing. It took about thirty minutes for the tow truck driver to finally arrive, and I was taken aback when as the guy got out of his truck the rain completely stopped, some guys have all the luck. I stayed around to make sure that her car got loaded up on the back of the truck and then prepared to get my trip back on schedule. After this whole ordeal I had given up on my elusive moment of enlightenment, and only wanted to get into some dry clothes. As I was leaving the lady tried to pay me for my help, which I kindly refused, and then she said something to me that completely caught me off guard. She looked at me as she climbed in the truck and said: “It is people like you that make this country the great place that it is.” I stood in awe for a moment and watched the tow truck drive off down the road. That was my moment of clarity.

            The entire trip I was looking for a moment that would affect me, and trying to find my clarity. I came to realize that the freedom in America, and the emotional enlightenment came not from solitary reflection, but through the interactions that we have with one another. Clarity and enlightenment comes from our interactions with our fellow man, and the respect that we have for one another. The feeling that I gained from helping someone in need was far greater than anything I could have found on my own. I had achieved what I set out for, and had found the true sense of the American spirit on the back roads, in the pouring rain.

Hunter S. Thompson

I have recently dabbled in a little non-fiction, which for the most part I do not do, and found that I have a great appreciation for Hunter S. Thompson. For those of you that are not familiar with Thompson he is probably best known for writing the book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which spawned the movie with Johnny Depp.

I have previously read his book The Rum Diaries, and it had a particular feel that was reminiscent of Hemingway. The story itself was not as good as Hemingway, but it definitely had the same rhythmic feel and social undertones of The Sun Also Rises. So ultimately he is a great writer, but his fiction leaves something to be desired. His non-fiction on the other hand is PHENOMENAL.

He rose to popularity with writing articles about outlaw motorcycle clubs that eventually landed him his first book deal, and Hell's Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs was born. This was the in the 60's so the Hells Angels were a different group than they are today. Thompson hung out with them for a year and recounts all of the parties and craziness that went on back then. The book is incredibly well written, and is a crazy ride.

The way Thompson lived his life was absolutely crazy and was a truly writer/rock star lifestyle. This guy was nuts. His biography makes all other writers look like choir boys, even the most notorious like Fitzgerald and all of the other members of the expatriate movement. The amazing thing about Thompson's story was the fact that it took place on American soil, and was not something that was exactly a secret. There were drugs and parties galore, and somewhere along the way some amazing stories were written. For those of you that are fans of politics apparently Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 has been hailed as one of the best accounts of American politics that was ever written. I myself have no idea how our political system works and have a basic understanding that America uses something along the lines of democracy, but that is about the extent of my knowledge. So needless to say this book would probably be over my head, but I would recommend Hunter S. Thompson to any reader. If you are more of a fiction person Rum Diaries good but his non-fiction was the bees knees. So check him out.

Twenty-five Books That Shaped America

I recently read Thomas C. Foster's book How to Read Literature Like a Professor, and I have to say that I really enjoyed it. It was not the most in-depth thing that I have ever read, but he did provide some interesting insights into reading literature, and how to do so in a critical manner. He writes in a way that does not come off as a pretentious literature lover, but writes in a witty manner that is both entertaining and informative. I love a little sarcasm and wit sprinkled on top of my literary analysis.

So I saw that he had another book, 25 Books That Shaped America, and it immediately caught my attention. I have not had a chance to read through the whole thing yet, but I have started it and found that once again I am entertained and enlightened at the same time. Too bad I've never had a professor like this guy in real life.

So just to give a brief rundown on what made his list (which he points out are not the definitive best books in American history, but more of a list that had a great impact on our literary culture) these are the ones that he has picked:

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
The Last of the Mohicans
The Scarlet Letter
Walden
Moby Dick
Leaves of Grass
Little Women
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
A Boy's Will and North of Boston
My Antonia
The Great Gatsby
The Sun Also Rises
The Weary Blues
The Maltese Falcon
U.S.A
The Grapes of Wrath
Their Eyes Were Watching God
Go Down, Moses
The Adventures of Augie March
On the Road
The Cat in the Hat
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Crying of Lot 49
Song of Solomon
Love Medicine

While I may not like some of these titles I think that the list is entirely appropriate simply because each one of these books are truly American and are great representations for our society, especially The Cat in the Hat. I am really looking forward to finishing this book and seeing Foster's commentaries for his selections.

Of course my personal favorite of this list is The Grapes of Wrath.

Steinbeck > Faulkner

You can buy his books HERE