So, I agreed, somewhat innocently to write this review of a Glenn Beck book for the Brooklyn Rail. I gave the book the benefit of the doubt, and the review isn't a total pan, but it's also not two thumbs up (and you should buy that book).
But it was a funny experience, reading it. For one, though I carried the thing several times on my long bus trips up to Syracuse and back, I had the hardest time opening it up in public. I generally try not to care what strangers think about me, but it felt like opening up a Glenn Beck book in the middle of a bus station was asking for crazy people to wander up and begin ranting about my choice of reading material. So, mostly, I only read it at home.
Now that I'm done with it, I'm left trying to figure out what to do with the thing. It's not thick enough to help me reach the top shelf, or heavy enough to hold open a door. I'd put it on the curb, but who wants that kind of Karma? Sure, we have a little apartment-style webber, but that brings up too many bad associations. So, it's currently tucked into a corner on my bookshelf, awaiting the moment when I finally decide to sneak out in the middle of the night and huck it into a neighbor's trash can.
But then, the other day I get a notice that a package is waiting for me at the Post Office. A package? I'm not expecting anything. I troop on down, and find a slim little package from Simon & Schuster addressed to "Chris Michel, Reviewer" -- ohhh, I'm on a list! I'm starting to get books unsolicited! What fun! What little prize awaits me? I hustle home and tear open the pull-tabs, to discover, this monstrosity. Oh wait, sorry, no. I mean this monstrosity. Gaaaah! Now what do I do?
