I had that discussion again the other day. You don't know what that discussion is, though, that's okay, but I should probably let you in on it. I am often accused of being "well read." I hate that term. I really do. I mean really bugs me. You see, I'm not well read. Not even a little bit. Not even close. Nope, not well read, but! I read alot. I can't even begin to tell you how many books I have read in the last year, forget that, the last six months, hell, lets be serious-- the last month! I simply don't know. I can't even begin to tell you what I have read. I'm not a hundred percent sure you'd really care, either. Let's just say I read alot. I can tell you this: right now I am reading the first volume of Shelby Foote's Civil War (I'm about 250 pages from the end). I just finished Fight Club (that took me longer then it should have, but I was reading it intermittently). I just picked up The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (I read the first four or five chapters this afternoon after work). I have waiting (I borrowed it from the library) The Ghosts of 42nd Street. I also, as my "shit book" have Winesburg, Ohio (which is the direct result of reading the book A Circus in Winter and meeting the author). With all this going on, I still have this sneaking suspicion that I'm not doing enough. Not reading enough. Not learning anything. I'm scared I'm missing something. Not doing enough. Not... I don't know... just not. And that, my friends drives me absolutely batshit